Conversations with a Cannibal
by criminalxxxmindsxxxfreak
Summary: It starts with a normal custodial interview, but soon grows into something more. Hannibal Lecter finds Spencer Reid to be very intriguing. Spencer isn't sure why he continues to go back to Hannibal's cell, but slowly he finds himself entwined in Dr. Lecter's constricting web. Warnings inside. Very dark. [Also posted on AO3 as a series under the same title]
1. Part 1: Doomed From the Start

**Title: **_**Conversations with a Cannibal**_

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **This fic in its entirety is also posted on my AO3 account, as a series of steadily darkening ficlets culminating in one huge clusterfuck. I am posting the entire series here under its series name as one story. Just so there isn't any confusion: I didn't steal this, I am the original author. Aside from trying to clean up typos and errors, the two fics are identical.

Chapters will be posted once a week on Monday nights, EST. If for any reason I cannot post on a Monday, I will either have the chapter up Sunday night or Tuesday morning.

As of right now the rating is "T", but it _will_ go up to "M" eventually. I will post a note making sure that that is clear when it does. This started out as a fun little one-shot for a friend and warped into a monstrous thing that I am quite proud of. Warnings are mostly for later in the story, but I will try to remember to warn you of when certain things care coming up.

Enjoy.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

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**Part 1: Doomed From the Start**

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Hannibal heard the steady, sharp footsteps down the row of cells long before they neared his cell. He wondered, briefly, who the FBI had sent this time. It wasn't the first time that an agent had been sent to interview him and it certainly would not be the last.

Over the years there had been many visitors. A collection of boring, over-eager psychology students, hardened FBI profilers sent by Crawford, and a handful of fresh-out-of-training Academy agents. They all tended to blur together—tediously over-zealous, fidgety things with appallingly romanticized views of his crimes.

Hannibal never spoke to any of them. They weren't worth his time and certainly not worth his wasted words. They never stayed longer than a few minutes, uncomfortable under his steady gaze and cool silence. It amused him to think that they believed themselves intelligent enough to comprehend a mind as complex as his own. There was only one person whom Hannibal deemed capable of understanding him, and he doubted very much that he would ever see Will Graham again.

After a while, Chilton stopped allowing most visitors. Hannibal would have been grateful for that if he weren't annoyed at Chilton for deciding to take away the minimal entertainment he got from watching them fidget and twist in fear.

But the footsteps he could hear were not like those other, quick-tempoed, anxious steps of fresh-faced college students. They were steady and unhurried. Likely an older profiler, then. Someone looking to prove themselves by trying to crack into the mind of the infamous Chesapeake Ripper.

When the agent came into view of the glass cage, Hannibal found himself pleasantly surprised at the man's youth. He was far younger than any hardened FBI agent—in his late twenties at the very most—yet he carried himself with the unterrified assurity of those older agents.

The young man only glanced at Hannibal before taking a seat in the metal folding chair. Hannibal took in his appearance hungrily.

He was too thin, gawky and awkward with long limbs and slender fingers. He had beautiful hands, Hannibal thought. His skin was pale and he had deep, purple shadows under his eyes. Hannibal found himself wondering if this young man suffered from nightmares like his dear Will. The thought enticed him further.

The agent's eyes were hazel and emotive, a beautiful mixture of greens and brown. His dark hair was a bit too long, curled slightly and very messy. It reminded him again of Will and Hannibal wondered if Jack had sent this young man specifically to remind him of what he could not have.

He dressed like a child playing at being an adult: a dark grey vest over a deep purple shirt and a matching, but crooked and improperly tied, tie. His dark slacks were a bit too short for him and his shoes were worn and old. His socks did not match: one a pale purple argyle, the other black with varying spots of white, purple, and navy blue.

He didn't seem outwardly nervous, but Hannibal could easily spot the slight increasing of the pulse in his neck. He was very good at concealing his fear, but he was scared nonetheless. Hannibal knew in an instant that he was not the first serial killer this young man had sat across from.

He didn't speak right away, something that was refreshing as far as Hannibal was concerned. All those other young students would quickly blunder through their introduction, wide-eyed and stuttering like children. Instead, Hannibal found himself speaking first, a surprise to even himself.

"And who has the bureau sent this time to hastily fumble their way into my head?"

He leaned forward, catching the young man's gaze and holding him there. He didn't look away, keeping his eyes steadily trained on Hannibal—very different from his Will. Hannibal could read the fear in his eyes so well, but above the fear was a shield of interest and confidence.

"I'm Dr. Spencer Reid," the agent said, and his voice was as young as his appearance. Lilting slightly, a bit more eager than his calm exterior. "It's nice to meet you, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal didn't try to hide the hungry smile on his lips as he studied Dr. Reid.

"A doctor?" he asked. "You're rather young, aren't you?"

Reid's lips quirked slightly into a smile and Hannibal catalogued the image so that he could capture it later on paper. It was a beautiful smile.

"I went to college young," he said. "I work with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit." He paused briefly and then looked down at his hands in his lap before looking back up at Hannibal.

"We know this isn't the first time you've been questioned by the BAU,"

"Indeed it isn't," Hannibal inclined his head; "Tell me, Spencer," he enjoyed the way the young shivered at his name, though he tried to hide it, "did Jack Crawford send you?"

If he was surprised by the question, he didn't show it.

"Actually, no," he said. "I don't work with Agent Crawford's team. Agent Hotchner is my supervisor."

Agent Hotchner… Hannibal only knew of him by name; he'd never met the man before, though Will had spoken of him a few times in regard to cases he had worked. He would have to thank Agent Hotchner for allowing this new and interesting agent to come into his line of sight.

"Ah," he said. "Then I have to ask, Spencer, why this new interest in me? I've been locked in this cage for more than two years. I believe public interest has faded a bit."

"I think we both know that's not true," Spencer said, his eyes sparkling a bit. "The less the bureau knows about you, the harder they'll try to figure you out."

"Is that why you're here?" Hannibal asked. "To 'figure me out'?"

"I don't think that one meeting alone is going to tell me much of anything," Spencer said. "Nothing I don't already know at least. Some killer's minds are easy to see into, others are more complicated."

"Then why bother coming at all?" Hannibal asked, "if you do not expect to learn anything new?"

Spencer took a breath and hesitated, debating whether or not he should answer honestly.

"Partly to see if you would talk to me," he said finally. "It's common knowledge among the BAU that you don't speak to anyone who interviews you… Another agent told me that I have a tendency to attract serial killers and I decided to find out if he was right."

Hannibal had to wonder what had happened to make someone tell Spencer he attracted murderers. He found that he didn't quite like the idea of another killer harming the young agent, though he himself was already imagining what he would look like spread out and covered in delicious, red blood.

"But mostly," Spencer continued, "I came here because my boss asked me to." He kneaded those long, graceful fingers into his knee and Hannibal eyed the movement with interest. "He felt I needed something to do to feel productive. I'm not currently allowed in the field."

"An injury?" Hannibal watched the fingers, still massaging the knee, "Perhaps you were stabbed in your knee?"

The fingers stopped and Spencer looked down as if only just realizing what he was doing. He pulled his hand away and nodded slowly.

"I was shot," he corrected him.

Hannibal could imagine it in his head—the bullet piercing the flesh and scraping the bone. The hot blood rushing out of the wound as Spencer stumbled and fell, unable to support himself. Maybe he pressed a hand against the wound and his fingers came away covered in the sticky, wet blood. He inhaled sharply, almost able to smell the adrenaline and blood and the hot waft of gun and metal. Delightful.

"You would rather be in the field than sitting in this dark hospital speaking to me," Hannibal said. It wasn't a question, but Spencer nodded anyway.

"I would," he said. "Here, I'm not really doing anything productive. You've already been caught. We know what happened to your victims. You aren't going to reveal anything to me. In the field, I would be helping to find a murderer."

Hannibal watched him with a ravenous look on his face. He had so many questions to ask. He wanted to know if the circles beneath those expressive eyes were from nightmare-plagued nights. He wanted to know if Spencer were as haunted by the ghosts of monsters as his Will was. He wanted to know why Spencer felt such a duty and obligation to save people, and why he chose to do so by delving into the minds of madmen.

He wanted to consume Spencer Reid.

"Is it my presence that makes you uncomfortable here, Spencer, or is it the mere fact that you are in a hospital for the mentally unfit?"

He licked his lips hungrily when Spencer flinched. He tried to hide the flinch, but he wasn't able to and it was a beautiful thing to see him truly hurt. He didn't answer the question, his lips tightening just a bit, and he carefully avoided looking at Hannibal for a long moment.

"Does it bother you?" Spencer asked. Hannibal raised a brow curiously and the young man gathered his courage, meeting his gaze again with a surprisingly angry one of his own.

"Does it bother you that they put you in here even though you aren't insane?"

It was rare that Hannibal Lecter was truly surprised, but he had certainly not expected that. He smiled wide and truly amused as he studied the agent in front of him and it was at that moment that he knew, just as he had known when he first laid eyes on Will Graham and just as he would know years later when he first saw Clarice Starling, that Spencer Reid was doomed.

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**A/N: **First chapter down. Hope you guys enjoyed it. This is just the beginning of a very slippery slope for Reid. Be warned.

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**[also posted on AO3]**


	2. Part 2: Caged

**Title: **_**Conversations with a Cannibal**_

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks so much for the reviews! And thanks for those of you who've favorited and followed this! I'm glad you're enjoying this so far! :)

I forgot to mention last chapter, but this was all written directly post-season 1 and before the start of season 2, so it's AU after the season 1 finale. It fits well with canon, surprisingly, but there are points where the story will veer into directions or mention things that occurred differently.

Please review!

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**Part 2: Caged**

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"Are you religious, Spencer?" Hannibal asked, eyeing the younger man with the same hungry look as the day they'd met. Spencer was wearing a grey shirt this time, under a thick cardigan that made him look very much like a teacher. In fact, if it hadn't been for the holster – empty at the moment – Hannibal may very well have assumed he was one.

It had been more than a month since the first time Hannibal had laid eyes on the agent. Spencer had been back to interview him twice and he was starting to enjoy their talks, though Hannibal was certain he was leaning more about Spencer than Spencer was about him.

It wasn't as easy as it would have been under normal circumstances to dissect Spencer Reid. He was, after all, in a cage and Spencer was an FBI agent. He didn't trust Hannibal at all and knew the man's games fairly well.

His lips pressed together tightly and Hannibal smiled at the action. Spencer had an emotive mouth, just as he had emotive eyes and hands. Everything about the young man screamed emotion – he was a flashing beacon of _feeling_. And such a bright, delicious mind full of fear and plagued by demons he tried to hide.

Hannibal had yet to pry out many of Spencer's secrets, but he could see them lurking there over his shoulder and he knew in time he would have Spencer's heart for his own just like he had his dear Will's heart.

"Are _you_ religious, Dr. Lecter?"

Hannibal smiled when Spencer turned the question back on him. That was expected, a defensive attempt to avoid giving him any personal information.

"I believe I posed the question to you first, Spencer," Hannibal chided gently and Spencer sighed, looking down at the floor. He'd taken to doing that often and it allowed Hannibal to study him without him fidgeting uncomfortably.

He was so full of fear and yet, paradoxically, so full of boldness. A strange combination of awkward vulnerability and impenetrable strength.

"No," he answered, looking up again. "There is no scientific proof to support the idea of a Creator God and there are too many variables involved in theology and theological debates. It's impossible to prove the existence of God."

"And you don't believe anything without hard proof," Hannibal nodded, "I thought as much."

"Then why ask?"

"Because I was curious to know your answer," Hannibal said, "Has anyone ever told you that you are fascinating?"

"I'm here to talk about you, Doctor," Reid's voice was steady, the faint tremor Hannibal had detected during their first meeting long gone. He'd grown more confident after his last couple of visits. It was intriguing.

"I find talking about myself to be very tedious," Hannibal said, "I would much rather discuss you. For instance, would you like to tell me about your father?"

Reid tensed for a second and there was another flash of that beautiful pain in his hazel eyes. Hannibal grinned and inhaled deeply, the smell of Spencer's nervousness and slight fear wafting in through the holes in the glass.

He hid the discomfort better than expected, anger flaring up before fear could overtake him. Hannibal couldn't decide whether he preferred the anger or the fear. They were both so interesting.

"Would you tell me about yours?"

"He's dead,"

Reid very nearly rolled his eyes, but kept himself from doing so and instead nodded slowly. "Of course. My father's not dead."

That was all he said and Hannibal wondered how much he would have to push him to get his entire life story. He had all the time in the world to try, after all.

"You are not fond of your father," it wasn't a question. Reid didn't answer.

He stared at Hannibal for a long moment and Hannibal wondered if he would leave again. The past two 'sessions' had ended with Spencer getting frustrated and leaving, but promising to be back later.

"Why did you start killing people?"

Hannibal sighed. They were back to the interrogation again, apparently. "I believe you've asked me that same question twice now, Spencer and each time I've declined to answer."

A brief flash of a smile and Hannibal wanted nothing more than to know what those lips tasted like.

"You never know, Doctor," Spencer said, "maybe you'll decide to answer eventually."

"Perhaps I will…" Hannibal mused. It was unlikely, if not entirely impossible. Hannibal did not have any interest in sharing his mind with the FBI and he would not do so for anyone, no matter how intriguing. "I very much doubt it though."

Spencer seemed to agree, but continued doggedly on his line of questioning anyway. Hannibal had to admire the boy's determination, if nothing else.

"What about the cannibalism?" he asked, "When did that start?"

Hannibal's smile was much more animalistic this time, revealing the faintest flash of sharp, white teeth. Spencer shivered unconsciously at the feral grin, but otherwise didn't seem to react at all.

After a long silence that seemed to hang thickly in the air, Spencer huffed. "Why are you talking to me?" he asked.

"I thought I'd made the answer to that question abundantly clear already,"

Spencer frowned at him, the edges of his mouth turning down as frustration eked out of those bright, hazel eyes.

"If you aren't going to tell me anything about your crimes, it seems pointless for me to be here or for you to even speak to me."

Hannibal nodded, "Then why do you keep finding yourself back here, do you think?"

He knew the answer as well as Spencer. Hannibal wasn't the only one intrigued. Spencer Reid was a man who liked to solve riddles and Hannibal Lecter was a riddle that was impossible to solve. His curiosity would ultimately be his downfall.

"As you said, Spencer," Hannibal continued, "perhaps one day I will decide to answer your questions."

Spencer inclined his head slowly and then went quickly to the next question.

"Do you think you're capable of love?"

It was asked in a softer voice than the other questions, somewhat timid and a little bit awkward. Before Hannibal could answer, however, Spencer continued, clarifying,

"I don't mean sexual attraction," he said, "I mean love. Caring for another person beyond yourself and your own means of survival. Beyond them being a pawn in a game that you're playing or one of the people you consider pigs that you murdered."

Hannibal thought about that for a long moment, "My, aren't we getting ahead of ourselves, Spencer? This is only our fourth date. A bit soon to speak of love."

The young man's face flushed scarlet and Hannibal inhaled sharply at the beautiful sight. His pale skin looked positively gorgeous with the blood pooling, hot and pink in his gaunt cheeks. He could almost feel the warmth radiating off of him.

"You know that question is on the questionnaire,"

He nodded, "Yes, but you've hardly been following the questionnaire, have you? You don't even really need it."

"You haven't answer my question,"

Hannibal sighed at the deflection, but slowly nodded his head.

"If you're asking if I believe I am capable of love, my answer is yes. I have loved before, other people. I have cared for another without having any ulterior motives."

"Who?"

Hannibal smiled, but the smile seemed a bit sad and he shook his head, "That is hardly important."

Spencer frowned and Hannibal could almost hear his frustration. He'd finally gotten Hannibal to answer a question and had then been shut out on the follow-up. He could imagine quite well how the young man must feel.

Hannibal's eyes were ravenous as he leaned forward, staring at Spencer as if he could pierce his very soul with just one gaze.

"What about you, Spencer? Have you ever been in love?"

Spencer flushed again, fumbling a bit as he awkwardly stumbled over his response, shaking his head quickly.

"That's not – We're not discussing me, Dr. Lecter,"

"I'd much rather discuss you," Hannibal said, "As I told you: you are fascinating."

"What you want to discuss isn't really important though," Spencer said, "We're not talking about me. I'm not the one in a cage."

The words were meant to be biting, but they came out lilted just a bit too high and Spencer's anxiousness showed through in his twitching hands and wide eyes. Hannibal smiled as he studied him, catching his eyes and not letting him look away.

"Are you absolutely certain of that, Spencer?"

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**A/N: **Hope you guys enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!

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**[also posted on AO3]**


	3. Part 3: Possession

**Title: **_**Conversations with a Cannibal**_

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Onwards to chapter three! I hope you guys are still enjoying this.

Reviews are much appreciated! Please let me know your thoughts!

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**Part 3: Possession**

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"It's your day off, Kid," Morgan frowned at Reid as the young man tossed a familiar case file into his satchel, head bent low so that his long hair fell into his face.

Reid looked up at the other agent, blinking and frowning, "And?"

"And," Morgan sighed, "you're going to Baltimore. _Again._"

Reid's lips pursed slightly as he slid the leather strap over his shoulder and attempted – unsuccessfully – to straighten his crooked tie.

"Again?" he asked, raising a brow.

"It's the sixth time in three months," Morgan said, "Hotch told you to call the custodial interviews off."

Reid blinked, shaking his head, "That's why I'm doing it on my time off instead of on the bureau's time."

"I just don't think you should go, Reid," Morgan said, "you've tried to crack him and you haven't. Let it drop."

His jaw set in determination and he shook his head, "He's talking to me, Morgan," he said, "He's never talked to anyone before, not even Dr. Chilton. I can get him to open up; I just have to keep trying."

Morgan looked unconvinced, "I don't like this, Reid," he said, "If it were anyone other than Hannibal Lecter…"

"What's different about Lecter?" Reid demanded, "I've talked to dozens of other serial killers. It's my job. It's _our_ job."

"I just have a bad feeling about this," Morgan wasn't usually one to go by gut-feeling alone but this had been bothering him ever since Reid had decided to go back for a second interview with Lecter.

"The last person Hannibal Lecter took an interest in was Will Graham, and he got a knife to gut."

Reid's sigh was a bit less exasperated this time as he eyed his teammate, "He can't hurt me, Morgan," he said softly, "He's in a cage. I'm just sitting on the other side of the glass and talking to him. That's all."

Morgan didn't look convinced, but before he could say anything else, Reid glanced down at his watch and shrugged apologetically.

"I'm going to be late," he said, "I'll see you Monday. Don't worry about me!"

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Hannibal watched Spencer sit with a smile on his face. He hadn't expected him to be back so soon after their last session, which Spencer had ended abruptly after Hannibal attempted to get him to talk more about his father.

Spencer was frowning as he sat, hands on his knees, long fingers twisting at the fabric of his pants anxiously.

"You seem agitated, Spencer," he noted, eyeing him curiously.

Spencer let out a puff of air and looked up, his eyes skirting over Hannibal's quickly without making proper eye-contact.

"What is this?"

He hadn't meant to phrase the question quite like that and certainly hadn't meant for it to come out so sharply, but it was out and there was no taking it back so he leaned back in the chair and finally met Hannibal's dark gaze.

"I'm afraid I don't understand your question, Spencer," Hannibal said, his voice gentle and even.

"This," Spencer said, waving his hand around vaguely. "These interviews. You're not answering any of my questions."

"That's a question you should probably ask yourself, Spencer," Hannibal said, "Why do you continue to return if you aren't getting the cooperation you need from me? Especially since your supervisor hasn't ordered you to return and you're here on your own behalf."

Spencer frowned and looked down, his hands wringing together. He was silent for a long moment and Hannibal left him to his thoughts, enjoying the conflicting emotions that flittered across his face.

Confusion, fear, anxiousness, anger. They flashed across his wide eyes and puckered lips. His long fingers fidgeted and twisted in his lap and Hannibal wanted to drink all those delightful feelings as they rushed through his veins.

After a long moment, Spencer sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head and looking back up at Hannibal.

"I don't know," he said. His voice sounded small, like a child's and Hannibal felt his chest swell with a long forgotten _need_. He had never wanted to touch Spencer as much as had at that moment. Watching his long, graceful fingers move through his messy hair, Hannibal found himself wanting to know what that hair felt like – was it as thick and soft as it looked? Did it smell as sweet as the brief wafts he could detect from his cage?

Unfortunately, the moment only lasted a second and Spencer quickly recovered, straightening up in the folding chair and composing himself. He swallowed roughly twice and Hannibal's eyes tracked the movement of his Adam's apple hungrily.

"I want to understand," he said, his voice steady and clear, in spite of the doubt Hannibal could see still lingering in his bright eyes.

"Understand?" Hannibal asked, "Me?"

He nodded, "It's what I do, Doctor," he said.

"Yes," Hannibal agreed, "You study the most depraved criminals. Do you think I'm depraved?"

"I'm not sure what I think about you yet, Dr. Lecter," Reid admitted. "You haven't revealed very much of yourself. I know you're intelligent, I know you're manipulative and I know you eat people. I want to know _why_."

"Then I'm afraid, Spencer, that you are going to be disappointed,"

"Why won't you talk to anyone about yourself?" Reid asked, "Is it because you don't know why? Or because you're scared to face why?"

Hannibal grinned, "Nothing so convoluted as that, Spencer," he assured him. "I simply don't wish to discuss myself because I am a psychiatrist –"

"You _were_ a psychiatrist," Spencer corrected him. His hazel eyes were hard, a bit angry. Hannibal normally would have been very upset if someone had dared to interrupt him, but in this case, he merely smiled and inclined his head.

"True, I am not practicing any longer," he agreed, "But I know how psychiatrists think, I know how they dissect people and I refuse to allow my mind to be clumsily fumbled into by naïve and overzealous doctors trying to make a name for themselves."

Reid frowned, "You're talking about Dr. Chilton,"

Hannibal grinned, "He is tedious, isn't he?"

He could see the young man fighting not to agree – it was clear he didn't care for Chilton any more than his Will had. He wondered what Chilton had done to upset Spencer and felt an unexpected surge of anger at the idea of the irritating doctor attempting in any way to speak with his Spencer.

Hannibal realized that this was the first time he'd thought of Spencer as _his._ He had become very possessive in a short amount of time. It wasn't entirely his fault though. It had been far too long since he had been able to converse with anyone so near his level.

"I'm not Dr. Chilton," Spencer told him, "All I'm trying to do is understand you."

"Why do you want to understand me, Spencer?" Hannibal asked curiously, "It can't be mere professional curiosity."

Spencer hesitated and shrugged, "Force of habit?" he said, sounding entirely uncertain. He met Hannibal's eyes for a second and then looked down, his brows furrowing slightly. "It's my job to understand people like you."

Hannibal laughed, "There aren't many people like me," he told him.

Reid smiled slightly in spite of himself, "True," he said.

"So why is it that you long to understand?" Hannibal asked, "Why do you want to understand any criminal at all? It drives you to nightmares and any sane person would avoid trying too hard to understand what most would consider evil."

"I…" Spencer faltered and then sighed, shaking his head. "I can save people when I help profile a murderer. Innocent lives."

"Are you haunted by the lives you didn't save?"

"No," Spencer's voice was hard and Hannibal raised a brow, not entirely sure whether he was being honest or not. It was difficult to tell whenever the young man was angry.

"How about the murderers you were unable to capture? The ones you couldn't stop?"

A brief flash of something flittered across Spencer's eyes and his fists clenched against his knees, but he didn't say anything for a second, instead staring at Hannibal. He sat rigidly in the chair and Hannibal knew he'd hit another nerve.

This time, he didn't let the shock of pain fade away. He prodded at it, marveling at the beautiful sight of Spencer's expressive eyes widening, his breath quickening as his shoulders tensed and his delicate, kissable lips folded together tightly.

"You have nightmares about them, don't you?" Hannibal asked, "About the killers you've profiled. You can see them at night whenever you close your eyes. Is that why you don't sleep, Spencer? Because there are monsters lurking in your mind?"

The pain that flashed across Spencer's face as Hannibal's words dug into him like a dagger. He may as well have been bleeding and it was such a glorious sight. Hannibal couldn't stop himself from leaning closer and reveling in the way the young man flinched despite the thick glass separating them.

He inhaled sharply, taking in the aroma of sweat and fear and anger as Spencer's fingers slowly unclenched themselves from his legs. How Hannibal longed to step right up close to the young man, invading his space and taking in his scent as his heart pattered away wildly in his chest.

For a moment, he lost himself in his imagination and Spencer's tight, slightly pitched voice drew him out again.

"I should go…" he sounded doubtful again, but he stood quickly, the chair scarping against the floor rather loudly. He clutched his leather bag like a sheild and his eyes were too wide. Hannibal had gotten too close to an unhappy truth and his beautiful Spencer was going to run.

He thought again of Will and smiled a shark-toothed smile. He would be back, Hannibal knew. Whether Spencer Reid wanted to accept it or not he was now and would forever be one of Hannibal Lecter's beautiful, brilliant little FBI agents.

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**A/N: **Reid is slowly starting to drown and he doesn't even know it yet. Hope you guys enjoyed it!

Don't forget to review!


	4. Part 4: Desperation

**Title: _Conversations with a Cannibal_**

**Rating:** T

**Warnings**: Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Sorry for not updating last night; I got busier than expected. Forgive me.

This is one of my favorite chapters in this story thus far... I hope you guys enjoy it.

Please let me know what you think!

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**Part 4: Desperation**

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It was late the next time Spencer showed up outside of Hannibal's cell. He hadn't been expecting to see the young agent and was pleasantly surprised when he took in Spencer's disheveled appearance.

The purple bruise-like circles under his eyes were darker, his hair was wet and messy and he tugged off an overcoat that was heavy with water. His shoes and the edges of his trousers were splashed as well.

He ran his hands through his hair and tugged at the sleeves of the shirt he wore – a white button down this time, underneath a black sweater vest. Spencer's shaking fingers – likely cold from the rain, though Hannibal suspected something else might be causing the trembling – quickly unwrapped a thin purple scarf around his neck and Hannibal took in the sight of his pale, slender throat bared for just a moment before the young agent ducked his head.

He didn't say anything at first, raking his fingers through his dampened hair again. The wet curls were slicked back away from his face and stuck out at odd angles. It took him a moment to compose himself, letting his hands drop to his lap, fingers still tugging nervously at his shirt sleeves.

"It's very late, Spencer," Hannibal said, watching the young man curiously. "I didn't expect to see you for quite some time."

"I didn't expect to be here…" his words came out fumbled a bit, pitched oddly. Hannibal had never seen him so agitated.

"W – my team is here," he continued. Hannibal realized that Spencer had yet to look at him, instead focusing very carefully on his fingers, plucking at his sleeves.

"We're working a case…"

"I'm still confused, Spencer," Hannibal spoke gently, not wanting to startle him and make him run again. "Is it my assistance you're seeking?"

"No," the word was clipped and a bit harsh, but Spencer finally looked up at him. "No it's not… No."

Hannibal decided that he liked watching Spencer all flustered and shaken. It was the first time he'd seen the young man almost come completely undone and he quite enjoyed the panicked, wide-eyed fear in those eyes. Even if he wasn't the one who had caused it.

Spencer buried his face in his hands and shook his head, taking a ragged sounding breath.

"I don't know why I'm even here…"

His face was obscured by his elegant hands and fallen curls, his thin body trembling like he was about to explode. Hannibal took the moment to allow himself a feral, hungry sort of grin that Spencer couldn't see.

It was such a beautiful, captivating sight. He needed to know what had caused it.

"Spencer," Hannibal spoke very softly and if the young man recognized the steady, even tones of a psychiatrist, he didn't comment on it. "I don't know what you expect to happen if you don't talk to me."

Very slowly, Spencer allowed his hands to fall back into his lap. Hannibal watched as his right hand swoon swooped up to grip the crook of his left elbow, long fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. It looked painful, the way he held himself.

"I don't want to talk…"

"Then what do you want, Spencer?" Hannibal was genuinely curious at this point. Something had clearly startled his Spencer and whatever it was, it was eating away at him, gnawing at his conscious mind.

Hannibal would be lying if he said he wasn't pleased that Spencer, finding himself close enough to the hospital whenever whatever had happened occurred, had run right to Hannibal. Spencer might not realize it on a conscious level yet, but at least subconsciously he was beginning to trust the doctor.

"I -" Spencer faltered, his lips tugging down in an uncertain frown. "I… I don't know. I should… I shouldn't even be here. I need to go…"

He stood to leave, but Hannibal could not let that happen. He wasn't about to let this brilliant opportunity pass him by. Spencer's vulnerability was screaming at him, begging to be take advantage of and Hannibal _needed_ to keep him there. Just long enough to have him talking.

As Spencer wrapped the thin scarf back around his throat and bent to pick up his coat, Hannibal studied him more carefully, more openly than he would have normally for fear of disturbing the young man.

He was wet from rain and still trembling. He hadn't slept in at least two days, judging from the heaviness of the circles under his eyes. His skin was layered in a thin sheen of sweat underneath the rain. Hannibal could smell it on him. Though Spencer was an unusually pale young man, his skin was different now. Sallow, tight against his bones. He'd lost weight as well as sleep.

He wore the pallor of death over him and his twitching, anxious hands were still fumbling with the rain-heavy coat.

In that moment, Hannibal understood and had to say, he was yet again surprised by the brilliant, beautiful young agent. His interest piqued, he called out just as Spencer turned to hurry down the hall.

"What set off your cravings?" he asked, his voice calm. As if he'd always known. He grinned as Spencer froze, stopping dead. His breathing quickened and his fingers clutching at his coat, lips quivering.

"Was it a crime scene? A body? Did someone harm you? A nightmare?"

Very, very slowly, Spencer turned around and walked back to the folding chair. He didn't remove the coat or sit this time, however. He simple stood there, staring at Hannibal, his hazel eyes wide and terrified.

Hannibal said nothing, waiting for Spencer to speak. It took him a long time to finally unstick himself, but he sat, those pretty lips still pressed together tightly.

"I've been clean for almost a year…"

His lilting voice sounded tiny and he quickly looked away from Hannibal's eyes. He expected Hannibal, much like anyone else who knew of his addiction, to judge him. Hannibal would imagine it would be difficult to hide any sort of addiction from a team of profilers. He wondered how they had reacted to Spencer's.

If they saw him as the vulnerable, hurt young man he very much appeared, Hannibal doubted they would condemn him, but he knew they would still have judged him. Pitied him, even.

Spencer didn't need that and it was very obvious he didn't want that either.

"You are worried that you will jeopardize your sobriety," Hannibal said, his words still even and gentle. "You fear it will make you appear weak."

It took a second, but Hannibal smiled as his words and the way he said them clicked in Spencer's head. He could see the moment he understood, his lips parting slightly, his brow puckering angrily. He went from shaken and terrified, to angry very quickly.

"I'm not your patient, Dr. Lecter," he said, his words stiff. More like he was trying to convince himself than he was Hannibal.

"Of course not," Hannibal still spoke gently, placating him. He held back his grin as Spencer's fists clenched angrily. He didn't want to be coddled or treated as a child.

"And yet you found yourself coming to me in your time of need rather than one of your friends…"

Spencer's anger deflated at those words, his head dropping as he sighed heavily. "I can't go to my team about this…"

"Because they will think you are weak," Hannibal stated, "They will think less of you."

"No, they wouldn't… I… Yes,"

He sounded so very broken. Hannibal wasn't fond of being the young man's resort simply because he was all that was truly available, but for now, he would gladly accept it.

"I do not think less of you, Spencer," Hannibal assured him.

Spencer's answering laugh was bitter. He shook his head and scoffed, "Comforting," he muttered, "A serial killer doesn't think I'm a horrible person for having an addiction to narcotics."

Hannibal smiled, reminded very much of his Will. Spencer didn't usually share Will's biting sarcasm, a much more reserved and gentle being than Will. But they each carried so much _feeling_ within them. It was fascinating to watch those feelings play out across Spencer's face.

He wasn't surprised, knowing how Spencer absorbed and held onto so much, that he had developed an addiction. He imagined that the drugs helped ease the pain of violent memories and vicious nightmares.

"You cannot speak to your teammates about this, but you knew you needed to speak to someone, so you found yourself coming to me,"

Spencer hesitated, but nodded slowly.

"So talk to me, Spencer," Hannibal said softly.

When Spencer hesitated again, Hannibal leaned forward, his eyes locked onto Spencer. "What set off your cravings this time, Spencer? Why are you struggling?"

For a moment, it didn't seem like he was going to answer, but then Spencer took a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

"I've been… going to NA meeting for the last month because of the cravings," he stumbled over the word 'cravings' and his throat convulsed. His hands weren't shaking as badly, however, and Hannibal watched them as they clenched and unclenched in his lap.

"But this case… I'm not sure… It was just, the way their bodies were mutilated…"

And Spencer talked. Hannibal was amazed at how much Spencer talked, his voice cracking and pitching oddly as he struggled to contain all of the overflowing emotions that were leaking out of him at every opportunity.

Hannibal had never seen so much of Spencer. He'd never inhaled the sharp scent of Spencer's fear and desperation so clearly before. It was one of the most beautiful things Hannibal had ever seen and he wanted more than anything to know what Spencer Reid - in all of his coiled, needy, desperate _feeling -_tasted like.

* * *

**A/N: **Yup, Reid's doomed. Poor kid...

Please don't forget to review!

* * *

**[also posted on AO3]**


	5. Part 5: Patience

**Title: _Conversations with a Cannibal_**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Things are getting a bit more complicated for Reid and Hannibal now...

Thanks so much for the reviews; I hope you all are enjoying the story. Let me know what you think!

* * *

**Part 5: Patience**

* * *

"Reid, can I speak with you for a minute?" Hotch's voice was brisk as he passed by his subordinate in the hall early that morning. Most of the team wasn't even in yet, but Reid generally showed up early, usually only beaten to the office by Hotch.

Cautiously, Reid followed Hotch into his office and sat when his boss motioned to the seat across from his desk.

"Is something wrong?" Reid looked a bit anxious, wondering if Hotch had somehow picked up on his recent struggles with his addiction again. It really wasn't a big deal – he'd managed to stay clean and was going to the NA meetings almost religiously. It was more an unspoken agreement that as long as Reid was managing things, no one would acknowledge his former drug use.

Hotch pursed his lips tightly and Reid had to fight the urge to fidget under his stern gaze.

"The FBI received this letter this morning," he said slowly, holding up and envelope. From where he was sitting, all Reid could make out was a neatly written address.

"…From the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane,"

Reid's heart skipped and he sucked in a sharp breath. _Dr. Lecter_.

"Hotch, I –"

"I thought I told you to stop the custodial interviews with Lecter after he refused to cooperate,"

Reid sighed. "You did, but -"

"Then why did Morgan tell me you've been eight times in the past several months? Why is Lecter writing to you? Reid, do you understand how dangerous this man is?"

Reid frowned. "I know, Hotch," he said, "but he's talking to me. He isn't throwing flippant answers in my face or just refusing to speak altogether. I can get him to open up if -"

"Lecter is manipulative, Reid," Hotch's voice was hard and angry and Reid knew he'd crossed a line he probably shouldn't have. "This isn't the first time he's taken an interest in an FBI agent and after what happened with Will Graham -"

"I'm not Will Graham, Hotch," Reid scowled. "I have the advantage of already knowing that Hannibal Lecter is a killer."

"That doesn't make you immune to manipulation," Hotch said. "I don't want you to go back to the hospital, alright?"

"You can't control what I do on my own time, Hotch!"

"No, but I can talk to the Chief of Staff and recommend that you not be allowed access to Lecter because it's obvious you're getting too close."

"Hotch, I -"

"End of discussion," Hotch said. "I'm not going to let you put yourself at risk."

"We're just having conversations -"

"Reid," Hotch's voice was a tense warning, his dark eyes meeting Reid's steadily. The young agent sighed and looked down at the envelope on his desk.

"Can I at least have the letter?"

Hotch hesitated, frowning at him for a long moment. He didn't want to pass over the letter, but he didn't have any real reason beyond personal worry that prevented Reid from having it.

Reid snatched it away as he held it out to him.

"Was that it?"

Hotch didn't like how hostile Reid sounded, but he nodded slowly, "That's it."

Reid nodded, a quick, jerky movement, and walked briskly out of the office, clutching the letter between tight fingers.

* * *

It was nearly two week after he'd sent the letter that he got the phone call from Spencer. Hannibal had wanted to see the young agent in person, but hearing his slightly quivering voice over the speaker was good enough, he supposed.

"It's good to hear from you again, Spencer," he said. "I hope you're alright. Did you get the letter I wrote you?"

He could hear the faintest sound of paper rustling and wondered if Spencer were looking at his letter at that very moment. He smiled and closed his eyes, imagining those wide, expressive eyes trailing down his neatly written letter. His brow would pucker, his lips would part and his breathing would speed up deliciously.

He imagined Spencer would run his long fingers over the page, perhaps through his hair. Hannibal inhaled sharply, calling to memory the scent of Spencer's fear and confusion.

"I got it…" Spencer's voice pulled him out of the fantasy. "Why did you send it?"

"It gets rather lonely in here, Spencer," Hannibal said. "The other patients are hardly the best conversationalists and I don't care for Dr. Chilton's particular brand of conversation. I was hoping that you would write me back."

"…I don't think that's a good idea, Dr. Lecter," Hannibal could hear reluctance in Spencer's voice and he smiled brightly. The young man was smart enough to see the strings of Hannibal's manipulation, but not quite sure how to cut them off.

"Why not?" Hannibal asked. "I hardly see the harm in having interesting conversations, Spencer."

"I'm an FBI agent." It sounded very much like Spencer was rationalizing and Hannibal couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face. "It's a bad idea for me to be so… involved with you, especially considering your past history with the FBI."

"We are simply having conversations," Hannibal repeated. "It has been too long since I've been able to have an intelligent conversation."

"Unless you're going to discuss your crimes and answer my questions, I don't think we'll be speaking again, Dr. Lecter."

There was a note of finality in Reid's lilting voice, but Hannibal knew better than to believe that the young agent had seriously decided to end their conversations on his own.

"You supervisor is worried for your safety," he said.

"He has good reason to be worried,"

"Hardly," Hannibal laughed. "I am in a cage, Spencer. There's very little chance of any harm coming to you through me."

"I think we both know you're lying,"

Hannibal grinned. "Perhaps. But I do enjoy our talks, Spencer,"

He could swear he heard Spencer murmur the words, "I do too," but they were soft spoken and he could not be entirely certain that they weren't simply the product of his own imaginings. He had been locked up for far too long.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Lecter, but I think you're going to have go back to relying on Dr. Chilton for your conversations."

He hung up, but Hannibal was certain that this was not the end. Spencer was nothing if not determined. He hadn't willingly chosen to end their sessions and he would no doubt find a way to return to his cell. It may take him a while, but Hannibal could be patient. He had worked very many, many long months to break Will Graham and he could wait as long as it took to get Spencer back to him.

As he settled back at the desk in his cell, Hannibal pulled out his pen and a fresh sheet of paper, preparing to write another letter to his Spencer.

* * *

**A/N: **Hannibal is so full of devious plans. I love it xD

Hope you guys enjoyed it! Don't forget to review, please!


	6. Part 6: Fantasies

**Title: _Conversations with a Cannibal_**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **I am so sorry for not updating earlier; I was so exhausted yesterday when I got home and I just _forgot_. I didn't even think about it until I saw the file waiting to be uploaded. So sorry!

As for this chapter, there are some sexual overtones and a bit of gore and violent imagery. Nothing too bad, but it will get steadily worse as this progresses so be prepared.

Anyway, I hope you all are still enjoying this and thank you so much for your support.

Please review and let me know what you think!

* * *

**Part 6: Fantasies**

* * *

Spencer avoided going back to Baltimore for several months after Hannibal sent his first letter. He knew that the doctor was a dangerous and manipulative killer and he'd seen the crime scene photos and read the reports from the hospital.

He tried to heed Hotch's warning about staying away from Lecter, but Hannibal continued to write him over the absence and he could never quite force himself to throw the letters away. He knew that he should just toss them without opening them, but it felt wrong somehow to just get rid of them.

He opened and read every letter, saving them and keeping them in a small lock box that he kept next to his bed.

Late nights when he couldn't sleep, Spencer would take the letters out and re-read them despite having committed them to memory already. He painstakingly analyzed the letters, looking for anything that might be more than it appeared. He knew that Hannibal had a habit of speaking in riddles and half-truths, but it was hard to figure out when he was being manipulative and when he was simply being cryptic to throw him off.

None of the letters ever mentioned Hannibal's murders or even alluded to his violent history at all. Most of them were just questions about how Spencer was, asking him if he had anyone new in his life, asking him questions about books and classes… He seemed far more interested in talking about Spencer than talking about himself.

Spencer thought he should probably be worried by the fascination Hannibal had for him, especially when Hannibal mentioned in one of his letters that he reminded him of "his" Will. The possessive way Hannibal spoke about Will Graham bothered Spencer more than anything else Hannibal wrote, but he couldn't bring himself to be truly concerned for his own safety. Hannibal was locked up for good where he couldn't hurt anyone. He told himself he had nothing to worry about.

At least, until he got Hannibal's latest letter and felt a chill go down his spine as he read the words.

_It's been far too long since we last spoke, Spencer. I'm beginning to feel neglected._

Hannibal apparently didn't appreciate being left alone with only the other patients and Chilton for company. He'd been locked up for years without anyone "fascinating" enough to hold his attention. Spencer imagined he probably wasn't happy to have that taken from him.

Hannibal was a man who disliked being left to stagnate. He'd said more than once that his imprisonment was a waste and a mind like his should never have been left to waste away. Spencer sometimes found himself agreeing. Horrifying as Lecter's crimes were, he _was _a brilliant man.

_I'm reduced to idle fantasy, Spencer. It's rudimentary at best and one doesn't like to be left alone with his own thoughts, _he wrote. _Shall I tell you about my fantasies, Spencer?_

_During the first two years of my imprisonment, many nights were spent thinking of my dear William. I still write him. Like you though, Will never responds. I'm not even certain that he receives my letters. Jack may have kept them from him out of spite._

_Lately, however, I've been thinking very much about you, Spencer. Your scent captivates my dreams and I often think about what you would __**taste**__like. You would look so beautiful spread out beneath me, with vivid red lifeblood ebbing out of shallow cuts._

_I want to sink my teeth into your very tempting lips, Spencer. I want to devour you. To consume you. It is so rare that I meet a mind like yours that can very nearly match my own and I would be a fool to pass up the opportunity to slice into you and see what tangled messes lay beneath your beautiful exterior._

For a week after Spencer receive the letter, he had nightmares. He tossed and turned and lost sleep over it. At work he would recite the words in his mind, hearing Lecter's calm, soothing voice reading them out to him.

Part of him knew that Lecter had written it out of spite and frustration, a tactic to get him to return to Baltimore. But that didn't stop Spencer from taking the first chance he got to head to Maryland anyway.

In retrospect, it probably would have been smarter to show the letter to Morgan or Hotch, or even Rossi. Anyone, really. But Spencer didn't think about that because all he could think about was what Lecter had written and why it drew him in.

He had to confront him about it.

* * *

Chilton was less than cordial when Spencer demanded to see Dr. Lecter. He was adamant about Hotch's "no more conversations" rule and any other time, Spencer wouldn't have bothered, but he _needed_ to see Hannibal and he didn't care all that much what he had to do to get down there.

"Agent Hotchner has asked that you not be admitted –"

"Right now I don't really care what Agent Hotchner wants, Doctor," Chilton blinked at Reid's clipped tone. The young agent was usually very reserved, very quiet. This was a side of him Chilton hadn't seen before and frankly, it frightened him a bit.

"I need to speak to Dr. Lecter," Spencer went on, "It's extremely important."

Chilton hesitated again and Spencer scowled, slamming his palm down on the desk and causing the doctor to jump a bit in his chair.

"Now, Dr. Chilton!"

Chilton fumbled a bit, but nodded jerkily and gave the agent clearance, eyeing the gun at his hip with open terror. As soon as he left the office, Chilton called the bureau to alert Agent Hotchner of what had happened and asked him how he wanted him to proceed with the situation.

Normally, Chilton wouldn't have thought it of the timid younger man, but he was certain if he'd tried to stop Spencer, he would've shot him to get to Lecter.

* * *

Hannibal heard the quick, hurried footsteps down the hall and immediately recognized them as Spencer's. He smiled and closed his eyes. At last, he had returned to him.

He wasn't surprised at all by the distressed look on Spencer's face as he came into his view. The young agent had clearly not slept well and was fidgety and anxious, pacing back and forth several times before coming to a halt in front of the glass. There was no chair set out for him this time, but Hannibal doubted he would've taken it even if there had been.

In the same hurried, jerky movements, Spencer reached into his pocket and produced a folded sheet of paper with handwriting Hannibal recognized instantly as his own. His smile grew broader as the young man fumbled to unfold it and look down at the words, his eyes moving over them in sharp, quick spurts.

"Why did you write this?"

Hannibal was silent for a moment, studying Spencer. It had been too long since he'd last seen him and he wanted to savor being able to see him in the flesh again. To inhale his unique scent. He could practically taste the fear and adrenaline that pumped through his veins.

"I've written many things, Spencer," he said calmly, "I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific."

Spencer's lips tightened into a thin line and he openly glared at Hannibal, "You know exactly what I'm talking about," he shook the letter in his hands. "Why did you write it?"

Hannibal saw no reason to lie to him and so he sat back and smiled, openly drinking in the young man's body with his eyes. He didn't hide the enjoyment he got whenever Spencer looked down and squirmed uncomfortably under his steady, piercing gaze.

"To get you to come here," Hannibal said. "I told you, Spencer, it gets very lonely here without anyone even halfway intelligent to talk to."

Spencer's voice was choked and he held the letter up to give Hannibal a better view of it, "This could do you a lot of damage," he said, "Writing this kind of thing is grounds for threatening the life of an FBI agent."

"And yet you didn't show it to anyone," Hannibal's grin was more animal than human, but Spencer seemed a bit too anxious to pay it that much attention.

"I still could," his voice shook and Hannibal knew he would never let anyone read that letter if he could prevent it. He shrugged unworriedly.

"Did it frighten you, Spencer? The thought of me somehow sneaking into your home, finding you where you live and acting out those fantasies?"

His jaw tightened and Hannibal felt a thrill of excitement go down his spine as Spencer's stubborn anger flared up all too quickly at the threat. He appeared so vulnerable and damaged, but when he was cornered, his little Spencer would _fight_.

Hannibal found himself wondering if he could provoke Spencer enough to make him entirely feral. It was an interesting idea at least.

He watched Spencer's Adam's apple bob in his throat and didn't expect an answer at to his question, so he was surprised when Spencer spoke, his voice rough, but quiet.

"Yes…"

Hannibal grinned. An honest answer, then. At least Spencer wasn't a liar, no matter what else he was.

"Good," he said, having to stop himself from laughing at the startled look on Spencer's face.

"I wrote you several letters asking for replies, Spencer," Hannibal chided him, locking eyes with the young agent. "You never wrote me back. That was very rude,"

His lips slipped into that animalistic grin as he watched Spencer's pupils constrict and then dilate, the beautiful hazel gaze fogged over with fear as his lovely hands shook ever so slightly around the letter in his grip.

Before Spencer could do or say anything else, they were interrupted by the sound of several heavy-booted feet pounding against the concrete floor. Chilton had called security then. Hannibal inwardly cursed the annoying man for ruining such a perfect moment.

"Dr. Reid," one of the guards spoke, keeping his distance from Hannibal's cage and eyeing it warily. "You can't be here. Your supervisor –"

"I'm leaving," Spencer cut him off, but never looked at him, keeping his eyes focused entirely on Hannibal.

Hannibal grinned as Spencer finally turned to follow the guards, his movements slow and uncertain.

"I'll write you again, Spencer!" he called after them, "And I would very much appreciate it if you would reply this time!"

Hannibal couldn't see the shiver that went down Spencer's back at his words, but he could imagine it very well and he closed his eyes and brought forth the memory of the trembling, vibrating young agent with his pupils blown wide in fear, remarkably similar to lust. A soft, devious smile touched his lips.

He still had so much work to do with his beautiful Spencer…

* * *

**A/N: **Heh, Hannibal is getting a tad bit obsessed with Spence... This can only end badly.

Please let me know your thoughts! Don't forget to review!


	7. Part 7: Stimulation

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba**_l

**Rating**: T

**Warnings:**Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **This chapter is where things really start to get... creepy. Trust me when I say it will most definitely get worse. Sexual situations and a brief description of rough sex are in this chapter. Possibly a bit triggering, but nothing *too* serious. Not yet.

Thanks, as always, for the support! I hope you guys are enjoying this! Please review and let me know what you think!

* * *

**Part 7: Stimulation**

* * *

_Spencer tasted blood in his mouth as Hannibal's teeth closed roughly around his lower lip, sucking the torn flesh into his mouth and licking at the bleeding wound._

_Spencer nearly vibrated beneath Hannibal's strong, sure hands. He winced a bit as the man pressed him more firmly against the unyielding wood of his bedroom door. He could feel Hannibal's strong fingers tugging at his hair and leaving bruises on his throat as he held him in place._

_His head was a mess of jumbled thoughts, everything clouded over with the sharp pain and the overpowering lust. It was difficult to breathe and he found himself gasping for air in between greedily sucking at Hannibal's mouth. He tasted like spice and wine and his tongue explored Spencer's mouth hungrily, mapping out the ridges of his teeth and tangling with Spencer's own tongue._

_He let out a keening whine and ground his hips desperately against the older man, moaning into his mouth. Shivering, Spencer fought to regulate his breathing as Hannibal's hands dragged over his body, fingers tracing the contours of his throat and ribs and travelling all the way down to Spencer's hips._

_Those iron-like fingers gripped onto him and roughly shoved him flush against the door, not allowing him movement and leaving him panting and needy._

_His breath was still coming in sharp pants whenever Hannibal finally pulled his lips away, meeting his lust-fogged gaze, his dark eyes ravenous with dark hunger._

"_You taste magnificent, Spencer…"_

* * *

Spencer jolted awake, shaking and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Scraping his fingers through his damp hair and across his scalp, he took several deep breaths to calm his pounding heart.

He'd never had a dream so vivid and _real _before. It took him several minutes to acclimatize to his bedroom. He forced himself not to think about the dream, instead focusing on what he could see from his bed: the red glowing numbers on his alarm clock, the faint, grey light just slipping through the curtains, his cell phone sitting silent on his bedside table and Hannibal's last letter, folding haphazardly and shoved underneath an old text book, just the edges of the paper sticking out.

He swallowed roughly and clenched his eyes shut, still feeling his heart trying to jump from his chest. As he drew his knees up he became very aware of the throbbing erection between his legs and felt his face flush with embarrassment and horror, flashes of the dream floating through his mind.

Throwing the blankets back, Spencer jumped out of bed a little too quickly, his knees wobbling as he fought to correct his footing. Without much thought, he walked jerkily to his bathroom and turned the shower on, making sure that the water was as cold as he could get it before stepping under the pelting jets.

The cold water shocked him fully awake and he forced his thoughts to go to something other than the dream – _nightmare_, he corrected himself.

It had been three days since his poorly planned, impromptu trip to Maryland and he'd yet to hear from Hotch or anyone on the team. The three days had been a tense reprieve and he knew that when he came into work he wouldn't be able to avoid the confrontation.

He fought not to grimace thinking about how Hotch was going to handle this. Would he be suspended? He doubted Hotch would go quite that far, but it was entirely likely that he would be forced out of the field for a while and probably taken off case work.

It wasn't a pleasant line of thought, but it had the desired effect of getting his mind off of the disturbing dream he'd had. He could feel his arousal waning from the combination of the freezing shower and the thoughts of what awaited him at work later.

He stood under the icy blast for nearly twenty minutes before finally stepping out, shivering slightly and rubbing his hands along his arms. He dressed slowly and walked like a zombie to his tiny kitchen, only glancing at the clock as he passed.

It was still far too early for him to be going to work. He made a pot of coffee and had three cups before feeling warm enough to stop shivering. He thought of eating, but his stomach turned at the idea so he settled for coffee alone and busied his mind by thinking about the last case that the team had worked.

He waited as long as he could – nearly an hour and a half – before decided that it was late enough for him to show up at work. He might get there before even Hotch, but he couldn't stand sitting in his apartment and thinking for another minute, so he left and tried to steel himself against the yelling he was likely to encounter when he got there.

* * *

Reid was surprised to note that he was _not _the first one in that morning. He spotted Prentiss at her desk, Morgan standing next to her, grinning widely with a cup of coffee in his hands. Rossi and Hotch were both in their offices and there were a few other agents from other teams there as well.

He frowned, feeling a strange bubble of unease settle into his gut. Hotch wasn't alone in his office, but Spencer could only make out the silhouette of the other man. No one had told him that anything was going on and he'd had the last three days off… Had something happened?

He thought about the cases that they'd been working. None of them were big enough for the whole team to already be in. None except the Reaper case and he was sure that _someone_ would have called him if they'd gotten a lead on Foyett.

Cautiously, he went to his desk and sat his messenger bag down, looking between Prentiss and Morgan.

"Did something happen?" he asked.

Prentiss gave him a funny look, frowning, "No… Well, nothing except that stunt you pulled in Baltimore Saturday."

He winced and looked down at his desk, jumping whenever Morgan reached over and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Reid…" he sounded like he was talking to a child and that made Spencer grit his teeth in annoyance. "What's going on with you? The kid I know wouldn't have threatened someone to -"

"I didn't threaten anyone!" Spencer cut him off, his head snapping up.

"That's not how Chilton put it," Prentiss said gently, "He said you were angry and irrational and he sounded pretty sincere, Reid."

The young man frowned, "I…"

"Reid!" Hotch was standing outside his office down, frowning down into the bullpen. "My office. Now!"

Spencer hesitated for a moment, still not entirely ready to have this conversation. His movements were stiff and slow as he made his way to Hotch's office. Hotch had already gone back inside by the time he slipped through the partly opened door.

He blinked and eyed the man sitting across from Hotch and stopped short.

"Agent Crawford?"

"Dr. Reid," Crawford inclined his head, but didn't quite meet his eyes. Spencer frowned. He still wasn't happy with the way everyone referred to him as "doctor" before "agent". He understood that the PhDs were a big deal, but he'd worked hard to earn the title of "agent" few people acknowledged that.

Hotch motioned to the free chair beside Crawford and Reid sat slowly, not sure if he should speak first or let Hotch initiate the conversation.

"What happened Saturday, Reid?" Hotch asked, frowning at him. His voice was steady so far, though a bit hard.

Spencer sighed, "Nothing,"

"That's not what Dr. Chilton said,"

"I know that you said you didn't want me to go back to Baltimore, Hotch, but -"

"You're right, I did say that. I distinctly remember giving you an order which you directly disobeyed." As he spoke, Hotch's voice became more and more angry, his dark eyes narrowed.

Reid closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "I know," he said, "I know that it was a bad idea, but I – I _needed _to speak to Lecter."

Hotch's lips tightened, "Why?"

Spencer hesitated and Hotch scowled.

"Reid," he warned, "if you're hiding something -"

"It's not… I'm not hiding anything," he promised, "It's just…" he bit his lip, "The letters he's been sending…"

Hotch frowned. He knew about the letters, of course. Lecter didn't have Reid's home address and the letters always came through the FBI before Reid could get them. He'd written him several times since Reid had stopped visiting.

"What about them?"

"…He's angry," he said.

"Angry?" Agent Crawford frowned, leaning forward and studying Reid carefully. Reid frowned and didn't look at him, keeping his eyes on Hotch as he spoke.

"Angry about what, Reid?" Hotch asked.

"Angry about me not going back to the hospital," Spencer said, "His last letter… was _disturbing_. I went to Baltimore to talk to him about it. I – I needed to talk to him."

"What did Lecter say in the letter that was… disturbing?"

Reid inhaled sharply and pulled the letter out. It was creased and a bit crumpled, but the words were still readable. He hesitated before handing it over. He'd known Hotch would want to read it and part of him had wanted to destroy it before he had to, but that would certainly have gotten him into serious trouble.

Hotch unfolded it and read over it, his nostrils flaring and his frown deepening.

"This is more than 'disturbing', Reid," he said, "This is a blatant threat."

"I know -"

"And you just decided not to come to me immediately after you read this?"

Reid's jaw tightened a bit and he frowned, "Would you want anyone else to read that if it was you?"

"This isn't me," Hotch said, "this is you and you know better than to keep this sort of thing from me. You also know that you showing up at that hospital was exactly what Lecter wanted to happen."

"And I didn't care," Reid hadn't meant to snap, but he couldn't help being a bit defensive. "Hotch, I couldn't just let that go, I needed to confront him about it."

"He's in your head, Reid," Hotch said, "that's not a good thing. Not with Hannibal Lecter."

"May I see the letter?" Crawford was already leaning forward, reaching toward the paper. Reid started to protest, but Hotch gave him a stern look and handed the letter over.

The agent's face tightened with anger as he read.

"Something wrong, Jack?"

Crawford looked up, "No one told me Lecter had been writing Will Graham,"

Hotch started to say something, but Reid interrupted, "Maybe because it's not your business, Agent Crawford."

Crawford looked like Spencer had just slapped and Hotch scowled at his subordinate.

"Reid!"

"It's true!" Reid said, "It's not any of his business if Will Graham's been getting letters from Dr. Lecter just like it isn't _your _business who I talk to on my own time. I'm not talking with Lecter during my work and I'm not doing it under the pretense of working for the FBI. What I do on my time is _not_under your control, Hotch!"

Hotch rose from his seat, his face red with anger, "We're talking about a violent serial killer -"

"I KNOW THAT!" Spencer's voice rose to a painful pitch and he stood as well, snatching the letter from Agent Crawford before he could finish reading it. He took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes.

"I know that," his voice was softer, "but that doesn't change the fact that it is still not any of your concern. I was trained to deal with people like Hannibal Lecter; I know what I'm doing. It was stupid of me to force my way in there, but that doesn't mean that I'm not going back to the hospital. I know what I'm doing and I can get him to open up."

"Half a dozen seasoned profilers have tried," Crawford said, "What makes you think you can?"

Reid scowled, turning to look at the other agent, "Because he's talking to me."

"…He talked to Will Graham too,"

Reid bit his lip, staring at the other man for a long, tense moment. He was really getting tired of people telling him that. Lecter was locked in a cage. He couldn't hurt him.

"And whose fault was that?" he snapped.

Crawford again looked like he had been slapped and Spencer didn't wait around for Hotch's reprimand this time. He stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him as he went.

* * *

He nearly ran right into JJ on his way back to the bullpen and stumbled backwards, apologizing several times before she offered him a small smile and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.

"You okay, Spence?"

He forced a smile, running a hand through his hair and nodded, "I'm fine,"

She looked skeptical, "Sounded kind of tense in there…" her eyes travelled to Hotch's office and he grimaced. He was really going to pay for that soon.

"It's fine," he lied, trying hard to keep the smile in place, "Hotch is just concerned, that's all…"

"We're all worried, Reid," she said gently.

His throat convulsed. "Don't be," he said, "I'm fine."

* * *

It took over a month, but Spencer did eventually find himself sitting in that uncomfortable folding chair in front of Hannibal's cage.

"I'm surprised to see you again," Hannibal noted, watching as the young man shifted and fidgeted in the chair. "I expected you supervisor to make sure you would not be permitted back after what happened last time."

Spencer looked down, his hair falling in his face a bit and Hannibal was surprised at how much he'd truly missed seeing the awkward innocence of his Spencer.

"I made a decent case of why he couldn't stop me,"

Hannibal grinned brightly, "Did you?"

Reid sighed, nodding slowly, "Of course, there are new conditions," he said, his voice very quiet and calm.

"Conditions?"

"Dr. Chilton will be listening in on all of our conversations," he said, "And if he hears anything that bothers him, he'll report back to Agent Hotchner."

"Agent Hotchner is worried about your safety."

He only hesitated a moment before nodding, "Yes,"

"Are you?" Hannibal asked curiously, watching Spencer's lips turn down into a small, uncertain frown.

"Should I be?" he asked, meeting Hannibal's steady gaze.

"I doubt I can pose any danger to you from behind this glass…" Hannibal said, looking pointedly around the cage he was in.

Spencer tilted his head, a tiny smile on his face, "We both know that isn't true,"

"So why are you not concerned?"

"I'm too curious to be concerned," he said.

Hannibal's grin showed just the barest hint of teeth, but it was enough to make Spencer shiver a bit.

"Curiosity killed the cat," he reminded the younger man.

"Was that a threat?"

Hannibal looked thoughtful for a moment, still grinning when he answered, "It is merely a statement," he said, "though probably one you should keep in mind."

Spencer looked slightly amused, but he didn't say anything, looking down and studying his hands for a long moment. He bit his lower lip and Hannibal inhaled sharply at the sight, enjoying the way his teeth looked pressing into the tender flesh.

His long fingers twitched a bit and indecision flashed across his partially concealed face.

"If you have something to ask, Spencer, ask it."

He looked up, eyes wide, and slowly nodded.

"There's something I want to know…" he hesitated and continued after Hannibal nodded encouragingly. "The people you killed… did you _enjoy _it?"

Hannibal thought about that for a second, "You mean did I find killing them arousing?"

"…Yes," Spencer's voice was a bit rough as he nodded and his face flushed a faint pink as the blood rushed to his cheeks. It was a beautiful look.

"Occasionally, yes," Hannibal admitted, "but not often. They were seldom worth more to me than the meat they provided."

"What about eating them?" Spencer asked, his voice carefully clinical, like he was trying to keep himself utterly removed from the conversation. "Did that arouse you?"

Hannibal grinned, "More often than killing, yes," he said, "Though I got more enjoyment out of watching others consume them unknowingly."

Spencer's stomach twisted at those words and Hannibal watched with interest as he ducked his head, his lips tightening a bit.

"Personally, Spencer, I find intelligent conversation and art to be far more _stimulating_," he paused, watching Spencer react to those words before continuing, "I must ask, though… Why the interest in what arouses me?"

Spencer flushed again, his face nearly bright red as he stood quickly and tugged his hair behind his head, avoiding looking at Hannibal at all.

"I have to go," he said, his words clipped, "I'll speak to you later, Dr. Lecter."

He was already halfway down the hall and Hannibal laughed gently, pressing himself as close to the glass as he could and calling out, "Don't stay gone too long, Spencer. I get so bored in here alone!"

* * *

**A/N: **Heh, poor Reid's really getting sucked in to Hannibal's game. Trust me guys, this is going to bad places.

Don't forget to review!


	8. Part 8: Friendship

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings:**Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks to all the new followers and to those of you who favorites. I hope you're enjoying the story! And thanks to anyone who reviewed; I appreciate it.

Not much to warn for this chapter, except some spoilers for the CM episode"100" and Hannibal pushing Reid's buttons while Morgan is overprotective and worried. Enjoy!

Please review! I'd love to hear anyone's thoughts!

* * *

**Part 8: Friendship**

* * *

It had been a long day of pretending to work when Morgan pulled Reid into his office. He fixed the younger man with a concerned stare and Reid clutched at his messenger bag, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

Morgan had already pulled him aside to ask him if he was okay after what had happened with Hotch and the Reaper less than two weeks ago. He still wasn't sure why everyone seemed to think _he _was going to breakdown; it was Hotch's ex-wife who had been murdered, Hotch's son whose life had been threatened and Hotch who had beaten a man to death.

Everyone apparently thought Reid was in some fragile state where any mention of trauma could utterly destroy him. It would've been touching if it wasn't absolutely annoying.

Morgan didn't spend any time beating around the bush. "I don't think you should go to Baltimore tomorrow,"

Reid frowned, letting his grip on his bag slip. "What? Why not?"

Morgan sighed. "We've all been through a lot these past couple of weeks," he said. "I just don't think you should be talking to Lecter when you're -"

"I'm what? Vulnerable?" Reid frowned, shaking his head. "Morgan I am capable of doing my job, you know."

"Talking to Lecter isn't part of your job," Morgan's voice was a bit hard as he studied his friend. "It's something you do because… hell if I know why you're still talking to him."

"You can't tell me not to talk to him, Morgan," Reid said. "I'm not doing anything wrong."

Morgan sighed. "I know," he said, and he sounded like it pained him to admit that. Reid was pretty sure if they could find a real reason to stop him from going to Baltimore, they would. Sometimes it felt like they were ready to just handcuff him to his desk to stop him from talking to Dr. Lecter.

"But I hope you'll at least hear me out," he said. "I'm worried about you, Reid."

"Don't be," Reid was tired of hearing these speeches. The "are you sure this is a good idea" and the "I really think you should take a break from this," that the team seemed to be dolling out constantly.

"I can't stop you from going," Morgan said, and he still sounded completely defeated, "but I can make sure you don't go alone."

Reid frowned. "I don't need anyone to hold my hand, Morgan."

"I know you don't," Morgan said. "But I'm worried about you. We've all been through a lot these past couple of weeks."

Reid started to protest, but Morgan held up a hand and cut him off, meeting his eyes. "Just humor me, Pretty Boy. Alright?"

Reid sighed and nodded slowly. "Okay," he said, "but this doesn't mean you're going to come with me every time I go to Baltimore."

Morgan smiled and nodded. "Agreed."

* * *

Dr. Chilton blinked a couple of times when he saw Morgan with Reid, but he composed himself quickly. His gaze skirted over Reid – as it had ever since the incident in his office almost three months ago – and plastered an entirely false smile on his face as he greeted them and allowed them through.

Spencer could practically feel the doctor seething. He had more than once approached Reid after his talks with Lecter to ask him what he'd done to get him to open up. Hannibal was still being a stubborn patient when it came to Chilton.

Not that Reid was surprised. Hannibal hated the man and it amused him to irritate Chilton to the point of madness. Every method of therapy Chilton tried was spat back in his face, usually with some joke at his expense.

"Does he always look like he wants to strangle you, or is that something new?" Morgan glanced over his shoulder as they were led by a guard down the narrow, dark halls in the hospital.

Reid shrugged. "Dr. Chilton wants to crack Dr. Lecter," he said, "but Lecter isn't exactly a compliant patient."

"What a surprise,"

Reid sighed and shook his head. "Just promise me you're not going to start acting like some overly macho, testosterone filled jerk. I really don't think he'll say anything if you try to intimidate him."

Morgan glanced sideways at his friend, a small frown on his face. He nodded slowly as the last set of steel bars were opened and they were waved through. He felt oddly like they were walking into a lion's den.

* * *

Hannibal leaned forward curiously as he heard the footsteps heading toward his cell. Two sets of footsteps and the faintest murmur of voices. He recognized Spencer's immediately, of course, but the other voice was new. Spencer wasn't alone this time.

Briefly, Hannibal wondered what this could mean, but he didn't spend time speculating as the voices fell silent and the steady footsteps drew nearer. He would find out soon enough.

Spencer didn't hesitate to lift his messenger bag over his head and nod briefly in greeting. "Good morning, Dr. Lecter,"

He was strangely distracted as the new person came into view. Tall, but not quite as tall as Spencer. Very well muscled and wearing a thin t-shirt and an empty holster at his side. Another FBI agent then.

Hannibal's nostrils flared as he took in the new scent – cheap cologne, cotton from the shirt, the faintest traces of wood, acrylic paint, and dog.

"Spencer, so nice to see you again. And you've brought a friend,"

Spencer's jaw twitched just slightly and it was very obvious that Spencer didn't want the other man there, in spite of the way the man situated himself, practically putting himself right between Hannibal and the young agent. Clearly, he was over-protective and a bit possessive.

"This is Derek Morgan," Spencer said. "He's acting Unit Chief on my team."

"Acting?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment before answering. "Agent Hotchner took a leave of absence."

"Ah, yes," Hannibal nodded. "That business with the Boston Reaper; I heard about that. Tell me, how did Agent Hotchner kill him; the article didn't specify. Did he shoot him?"

"No," Agent Morgan answered, his voice hard. He wasn't even trying to hide the glare now. The open note of hostility in Agent Morgan's voice amused Hannibal and he smiled a bit as he turned his eyes toward him.

"You don't like me very much, do you Agent Morgan?"

"No, I don't,"

Hannibal didn't miss the way Spencer shook his head slightly at Agent Morgan's venom. It was obvious the FBI agent was concerned for his friend, but Spencer saw no reason for the concern and was probably annoyed by it more than anything.

That would prove to be a mistake, eventually.

"We've just met;" Hannibal said, "how can you hate me when you don't even know me?"

"Because I know what you've done," Agent Morgan said. "I've seen the pictures of the mutilated bodies. You're a monster."

"Is that why you became an FBI agent? To fight monsters? Did you have monsters in your past, Agent Morgan? In your childhood?"

"That's not any of your business,"

"And yet you seem to think it's _your_ business what I talk about with Spencer…"

"_Spencer_," Agent Morgan ground the name between his teeth, probably picking up on Hannibal's possessive use of the young man's name, "is _my_ friend. I'm obligated to make sure that he isn't being harmed."

Hannibal smirked, "You really think Spencer needs someone here to hold his hand? Do you think he's not capable of fending for himself?"

"_Spencer_," Spencer suddenly cut in, his lips tight, "is standing right here. And I would appreciate it if you would stop talking about me like I'm a child."

"Of course, Spencer," Hannibal smiled apologetically and Spencer sent him an annoyed glare, well aware that he was being patronized. "We were being very rude."

Morgan didn't say anything, but he did step back as Spencer sat down in the folding chair. He placed a hand on the back of the chair, setting Hannibal with a determined glare. It was childish and amusing the way he seemed to be trying to assert his dominance and flaunt his closeness to Spencer.

Agent Morgan didn't interrupt their conversation, listening and never once looking away from Hannibal. Hannibal was careful to keep the conversation from deviating too far into the personal with Morgan there. He certainly didn't want Agent Morgan to think Spencer was allowing him in to his mind too much.

The conversations were usually brief, but this one seemed to drag on a bit longer. Normally, that would've made Hannibal very happy, but with Agent Morgan's presence he wasn't able to talk as freely as he might have.

Which is why he was grateful when Agent Morgan received a phone call and stepped further down the hall, giving him a few precious minutes alone with Spencer.

Hannibal's eyes followed Agent Morgan as he left before turning to look at Spencer again. "I take it you did not request Agent Morgan presence here today?"

Spencer sighed and shook his head, still looking down the hall after Morgan. "He's just worried about me."

"It seems he's overstepping a bit," Hannibal said gently.

Spencer scowled, turning to look at him finally, anger flaring in his eyes. "He's only trying to make sure that I'm alright. He means well."

"I meant no offense," Hannibal said, still keeping his voice as gentle and even as he possibly could. "It simply seems that Agent Morgan is perhaps a bit too concerned. You are, after all, a trained FBI agent. You don't need a babysitting."

Spencer's lips were pressed into a tight line. "You're manipulation is a bit clumsy, Dr. Lecter," he said, his voice even. "Just because I'm unhappy about Morgan being here doesn't mean that I'm suddenly going to see _you_ as my friend."

Hannibal grinned. "You've already seen me as a friend, Spencer," he said. "Or do you imagine that it's normal to confide in someone who isn't your friend about nightmares and drug addictions?"

Hannibal watched, not hiding his smile, as Spencer paled and his fists clenched. His jaw worked like he was trying to come up with some retort, but the return of Agent Morgan cut him off.

"We've got a case, Kid;" he said, not even bothering to look at Hannibal, "the team'll pick us up on the way. Let's go."

Hannibal watched Spencer nod jerkily, snatching his bag and practically running down the hall. He imagined he probably wouldn't see Spencer for a while, but he would be back. Of that he was absolutely certain.

* * *

**A/N: **Poor Reid. Everyone can see this is not good for him except him. Ah well.

Hope you enjoyed it! Please don't forget to review!


	9. Part 9: Retrograde

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings:**Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks so much for the reviews! I appreciate it. And thanks to everyone reading and following; I hope you're all enjoying this!

Nothing too heavy this chapter, but there is discussion of mental illness so be aware of that.

Please don't forget to review!

* * *

**Part Nine: Retrograde**

* * *

"Tell me about your mother," Hannibal said without any preamble. He watched as Spencer's face went a bit pale for a moment before settling into a mask of shock and surprise. The young man sat forward with a raised brow and Hannibal had to commend him for controlling his outward expressions better than he had before. He'd grown used to Hannibal's prodding.

"Tell me about yours," he said, "Since you apparently forgot that we were talking about _you _again."

"Sarcasm really doesn't suit you, Spencer," Hannibal noted, his eyes lit with amusement.

"I'd be less inclined to be sarcastic if you would remember that I'm here to discuss your crimes, Dr. Lecter," the retort came quickly. Spencer was definitely learning.

Hannibal sighed, "Is your mother a touchy subject then? I know you aren't fond of your father; I assumed your feelings toward your mother would be different. Was I wrong?"

Spencer's eyes narrowed a bit, calculating. Hannibal remained silent as he watched him, enjoying watching the thoughts wind through his quick mind. He was remarkably adept at putting things together at speeds that were astonishing.

"I'll tell you about my mother if you answer my question," he said finally. Hannibal grinned.

"An exchange then?" he said, "Perhaps… What question?"

"How many people have you killed?" Spencer asked immediately. The FBI had a body count, of course, but they were almost certain that it was inaccurate. A man like Hannibal Lecter, who killed with such proclivity, had to have more than fifteen victims that they associated with the Ripper.

Hannibal's eyes sparkled, "Quite a few, Spencer. More than I can remember accurately. Over the years they've begun to blur a bit. Most were unimportant."

"You have to have some estimate, Doctor," Spencer said, "Don't you think the victim's families at least deserve closure?"

"I doubt they'd find comfort in knowing their family member was eaten, don't you agree, Spencer?"

Spencer's face twisted into that annoyed frown that Hannibal found so amusing. He really did have some of the most interesting facial expressions.

"About your mother?" Hannibal prompted. Spencer pursed his lips and seemed to debate answering.

"I love my mother," he said simply.

"And?"

"And you aren't getting a more elaborate answer until you give me one,"

Hannibal frowned, "You're being very stubborn, Spencer,"

"I'm here to find out about you, Doctor," he reminded him, "Not the other way around."

Hannibal sighed, "Fine," he said, "I do not have an accurate count, Spencer, but I can tell you that there are several identities under which I have killed. Not just in the United States, but all over the world. Most predominantly in Europe."

Spencer's eyes flashed with something and Hannibal could see his mind working, putting the information into the profile they already had of him. It was interesting to watch it happening.

"How old were you when you began killing?"

"That's two questions, Spencer," Hannibal chided, shaking his head.

Spencer sighed, but nodded slowly. He spoke reluctantly, as if every word were being forced out of him against his better judgment. If he hadn't become numb to the screaming sense of self-preservation in the back of his mind, he wouldn't have said anything.

"My mother raised me on her own from the time I was ten,"

"And?" Hannibal prompted.

"And…" Spencer closed his eyes, "And she's a paranoid schizophrenic."

Hannibal's eyes lit up and Spencer stared at him blankly, his face carefully cold. There was something like fear peaking from behind his hazel eyes, but it was more unreadable than it had been before.

Pieces of the puzzle that was Spencer Reid were finally starting to fall into place as Hannibal tucked the information away much like Spencer had his.

"Do you fear mental illness, Spencer?"

"That's two questions, Doctor," Spencer was quick to remind him. Hannibal took that as yes.

"Very well," he said, "Was there another question you wanted me to answer?"

"There are a lot of questions I want you to answer, Dr. Lecter. You know as well as I do the FBI doesn't know very much about you."

"I prefer to remain an enigma. It certain drives Chilton to extremely amusing lengths attempting to understand me."

"Have you ever let anyone in?" Spencer asked, slowly. As if he were choosing his words carefully. "Let anyone see past that mask you wear?"

"Who says it's a mask?"

"So you've always been like this then?"

"Like what?"

"A killer,"

Hannibal pursed his lips, noting that Spencer, unlike many others, chose to identify him as a killer rather than a monster. He felt it was an important distinction.

"No, I suppose I haven't," he answered.

Spencer frowned, "Then what drove you to kill? You couldn't have just woken up one day and decided to butcher someone."

Hannibal thought about that, considering his words as carefully as Spencer had. He never liked to reveal much of himself and just as he had with Will, he preferred half-answers and vague truths to complete honesty.

"Everyone has trauma somewhere in their pasts, Spencer. It is a part of being human, I suppose. 'Sometimes, human place create inhuman monsters,'"

"You're going to quote Stephen King, Dr. Lecter? Really?"

"It seemed appropriate," Hannibal smiled, having expected Spencer to catch the quote.

"What about your past was so traumatic that you began killing?"

"I believe I've already answered two questions, Spencer," Hannibal reminded him. "It's my turn."

"What do you want to know?" Spencer sighed, but decided to remain fair. Hannibal was at least talking to him, which was exactly what he wanted. He didn't see the harm in divulging information. He would one day, but it would be too late then.

"Your mother, when was she diagnosed with her mental illness?"

"Before I was born," Spencer answered quickly, "Next question."

Hannibal smiled a bit at his abrupt manner. It was a subject he wanted to avoid, clearly. Which only made Hannibal want to poke at it all the more.

"You said your mother raised you from the time you were ten," he said, "so your father must have been around before then. Why did he leave?"

For just a moment, true hate flashed in Spencer's eyes and Hannibal wasn't entirely sure if the hate was directed at him or at Spencer's father. It vanished just as quickly as it had appeared so he had little time to examine it.

"It was too much for him," he said. His voice was strangled a bit.

"What was? Your mother's illness?"

Spencer shrugged, "Everything," he said, "My mom, me… He said he couldn't do it anymore."

"Something must have set him off," Hannibal said, "What was it?"

Spencer shook his head, "Your turn, Doctor," he said.

Hannibal sighed, but conceded.

"What happened to you that turned you into a killer?"

Hannibal very nearly scowled, but supposed he had brought this on himself allowing Spencer to ask him questions. Since Spencer had been honest so far, he decided to humor him and be honest as well. To a point.

"My sister was murdered,"

"How?" Spencer's eyes were lit with eager interest and a flash of sympathy. "By who?"

"It is, as I said, a rather long story, Spencer," Hannibal said, "And that is two questions. Why did your father leave?"

Spencer's lips pressed tightly together, "When I was four…" he paused, closed his eyes and started again, "When I was four years old my mother witnessed a murder. She was already having trouble managing her _illness_ and it just made things worse. Everything was strained and my Dad couldn't _cope_. She only went further downhill over the years and eventually he just left."

"He left a ten year old alone with a mentally ill mother?"

"I told you," Spencer's voice was hard and cold, "he said he couldn't handle it. I wasn't like all the other boys my age and he had no idea how to relate to me."

"So he abandoned you?"

"Yes," Spencer still sounded angry, his eyes blazing with a strange combination of hurt and hate.

"Does it still bother you?"

"It was a long time ago,"

"That doesn't answer my question, Spencer,"

"It's your turn, Dr. Lecter," Spencer said. His voice was still cold. Hannibal doubted very much he would get anything more out of him. "What happened to your sister?"

Hannibal took a deep breath, staring at Spencer for a long, tense moment.

"I believe that's a story for another time," he said slowly, "I can't tell you everything at once, can I?"

Spencer scowled, "That's it?"

"It's more than I've ever given you before,"

The young man sighed, nodding slowly. He stood and started to leave before he hesitated and turned back, meeting Hannibal's eyes for a moment. He chewed his lower lip and looked uncertain for a moment.

"Thank you," he said, "…for answering my questions."

Hannibal smiled brightly at him, inclining his head in acceptance. "Thank you, Spencer," he said, "for answering mine."

* * *

**A/N: **Spencer is digging himself deeper and deeper. Poor kid doesn't know what he's in for.

Heads up: Part Ten is where we really start in on the gore and murder and such. It's not gonna be pretty and it's also fairly lengthy so it's broken into two parts. Also, Will finally shows up. Yay.

Hope you enjoyed! Please review!


	10. Part 10A: Breakdown

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings:**Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks so much for the reviews. Welcome to the new followers. I hope you're all enjoying this.

Now, Part 10 is longer than any of the previous parts and is also broken into two parts. Part 10B will be posted next Monday as usual.

Warnings for the next two parts specifically include gore, murder, blood and language. Oh, and also some brief discussion of mental illness. Will shows up in the second half of this part so unfortunately no Will in this particular section, but you'll all get to see him next week.

Please don't forget to review!

* * *

**Part 10A: Breakdown**

* * *

Spencer nudged his sunglasses more firmly in place as he gathered his bag and tried his best to ignore the angry throbbing behind his temples. The headaches had started a few months ago and only seemed to be getting worse. He was already taking more aspirin than was recommended, which wasn't really helping. He was eager to get out of the office and have a couple of days off. Maybe if he got a good night's sleep he'd feel better.

"Hey, Reid!" a hand caught him gently around the wrist before he could finish packing up and he blinked, his head jerking fast enough to increase the pounding. The hand fell away and he looked up to see Ashley Seaver standing there, smiling softly at him.

He thought she had a nice smile, soft and pretty without being timid or awkward. Despite her youth, Seaver was incredibly confident. It was interesting.

"Any plans for the weekend?"

_Was she asking him on a date?_ The thought flitted through his mind and he shifted nervously, nodding and immediately wishing he hadn't as the pain intensified.

"Uh, yeah, I'm going out to Baltimore tomorrow morning. I won't be back until Monday night."

"Pretty Boy, I thought we talked about this," Morgan was suddenly behind him and Spencer jumped. How was everyone managing to sneak up on him lately? Were his headaches effecting him that much? Maybe he should talk to Hotch…

"What's in Baltimore?" Seaver asked curiously. It took Spencer a moment to remember that she hadn't been around during his last trip to speak with Hannibal – it felt like a lifetime ago though it was less than five months.

"Dr. Hannibal Lecter," he answered promptly, starting to move away from them and hoping that they would take the hint and leave him alone.

"Wait," Seaver quickly fell in step beside him with Morgan on her other side, "Hannibal the Cannibal? The Chesapeake Ripper? I thought he never talked to profilers."

"None but our resident genius," Morgan said, his voice sounding sour as he frowned at him. Seaver picked up on the disapproval quickly.

"Is his talking to Lecter a bad thing?"

"No," Spencer answered immediately, "Everyone else is just worrying about nothing."

"He's been talking to him for over a year," Morgan said, "Unofficially. And he's got squat out of him."

Spencer scowled, "I got him to tell me that he's killed outside of the US," he said, "Garcia was able to find almost two dozen new kills that could be linked to him."

"_Could be,_" Morgan said, "You asked him point blank if he killed those people and he refused to tell you. He's leading you on, Reid. He just wants someone to toy with. You're walking a dangerous line."

Reid scowled, "Let me be the judge of that," he snapped, increasing his gait to get away from them. This time they didn't follow and Reid was almost grateful that he wouldn't have to carry on a conversation any longer.

* * *

"Spencer," Hannibal's voice swam in his mind as he rubbed his eyes. His headache was worse than it had ever been before and he couldn't focus on anything. Images were swimming through his mind and he could swear he heard a distinct ringing in his ears, the thrumming beat of drums echoing somewhere behind the violent crescendo of his pain.

"Spencer are you alright?" the concern in Hannibal's voice was what pulled his attention back to the other man. He was eighty percent certain the concern was fake – Hannibal was a psychopath, after all. He was capable of feeling, but generally not for other people's well-being.

"I'm sorry," even to his own ears his voice sounded strained. He also wasn't sure why he was apologizing. "It's just a headache…"

He forced his eyes open and looked at the doctor, taking a steadying breath. The pain simmered down to something slightly more bearable, but it continued to throb incessantly at his temples.

"You were saying?"

"I don't think our previous conversation is important right now, Spencer. Tell me, how long have you been having these headaches?"

Spencer's jaw tightened and he shrugged, "Not long. A few months, off and on."

"Spencer…" there was a strange warning note in Hannibal's voice and he immediately felt a spike of fear at his tone. He answered without thinking.

"I had the first headache two months and eighteen days ago," he said, "This is the fifth one and they're growing in severity."

"Hmm, have you seen a doctor about it?"

"One," Spencer sighed and let his head drop into his hands. It was too much work to keep his head up.

Hannibal watched him massage his temples, his long fingers going white as they pressed against the sides of his aching skull. Again his mind went to Will and all the times the other man had been in a very similar position, head throbbing, hands pressed against his face, shaking slightly.

Of course, this wasn't encephalitis and Spencer wasn't Will.

That didn't make the comparison any less meaningful to Hannibal.

It took Spencer a moment to realize that Hannibal was still talking and then another moment to crush the irrational guilt he felt for ignoring him. For some reason, he felt bad for being _rude_.

"Sorry," he forced himself to sit back up, "What did you say?"

Hannibal sighed, but didn't seem irritated, "I asked what your doctor told you, Spencer,"

He stiffened and shook his head, "I think we should stay on topic, Dr. Lecter. We were talking about you."

"Yes," Hannibal nodded, "We _were_ talking about me. Now we're talking about you. Specifically, these headaches you've been having. What did the doctor tell you?"

Spencer sighed. He knew well enough by now that he would get nowhere with Lecter if he didn't answer the question. With Hannibal everything was a game of give and take; he gave and Hannibal took. Sometimes it was more akin to chess. Spencer was good at chess, but he had a sinking feeling Hannibal was better.

"He said there was nothing physically wrong with me,"

The break in his voice made Hannibal smile and he leaned forward, eyes bright, "Physically?"

Spencer closed his eyes before answering, "He suggest that it was psychosomatic,"

Only Hannibal's impeccable control stopped him from grinning widely. It was like playing the game with Will all over again, only with a different set of rules and a few new players. The added restriction of his cell only made things more interesting.

"Your mind playing tricks on you, Spencer?"

His jaw was tight, "No," he said, "It's something physical. I know what mental illness looks like and this isn't it. I've seen it. I grew up with it. There is something wrong and it is not mental. It's not."

He sounded desperate, his words a burst of anger mixed with fear. He had to wonder if Spencer was even aware of how much his words echoed Will Graham's. It was astonishing the similarities that were beginning to make themselves known. God must have been smiling upon him when he delivered Spencer Reid to him. Or perhaps that was Satan; Hannibal couldn't say for sure and didn't really care.

"Or," Hannibal said, gently, "perhaps your mind truly is slipping, Spencer. Schizophrenia has been known to be hereditary and you are at the proper age for it to present itself. A shame that such a bright mind would be addled with such a terrible mental illness –"

"It's not schizophrenia!" the words were nearly shouted and if there was ever a time when Spencer hated him, it was then. His fists were clenched tight and shaking and he met his eyes with a blazing fury that surprised even Hannibal.

"I am not hallucinating, Dr. Lecter. I am one hundred percent lucid."

"As far as you are aware," he said. His voice was still gentle and it was difficult for Spencer to hate him when he spoke so calmly and carefully. As if he regretted saying what he was saying.

"You could very well be dissociating without ever knowing it. You know as well as I do that it is possible that you -"

"Shut up!"

The words were harsh and abrupt and Spencer was breathing too heavily. He was standing and glaring at him, his chest heaving with the hard inhales and exhales.

"Just shut up," he said more slowly, his eyes closing for a moment as he gathered himself and carefully rebuilt the wall he'd started building up to keep Hannibal out. It was a flimsy wall at best and Hannibal could see through the cracks. A waste of his time, really.

"I'm not an idiot," he said, "I know what you're trying to do, Doctor and it isn't going to work."

"Isn't it?" Hannibal smiled, flashing his teeth for a moment, "Spencer have you ever considered that for all of your intelligence you're really quite naïve? If you continue to delude yourself you're only going to make it easier for me to harm you."

Spencer just stared at him, lips folded together tightly, eyes swimming with tears. Hannibal wasn't sure if they were from the pain, the anger or the fear but they were beautiful all the same. The tears made his hazel eyes shine so brightly, sparkling behind the pain that flashed within them.

"You don't scare me, Dr. Lecter,"

"You're lying," Hannibal said, "I can smell your fear, Spencer. I can see it in your eyes. You fear me and you fear that I'm right. You fear that these headaches are indicative of something far worse happening in your mind and you don't want to admit it because fear makes you _weak_."

Spencer inhaled sharply and turned to leave, "Goodbye, Dr. Lecter,"

Hannibal smiled, "I'll you see tomorrow, Spencer,"

Spencer paused, jaw tight and shook his head, "No you won't,"

Hannibal simply inclined his head, waiting until Spencer was farther down the hall to whisper, "But I will, Spencer…"

* * *

His headache was slowly dissipating by the time he got back to his hotel. He pressed his head against the coolness of the door for a moment before sliding the key-card into the lock and pushing it open. He tried to let every thought evaporate from his mind, leaving him floating a bit as the pain eked away.

The door clicked shut behind him and he opened his eyes to see a small, neatly wrapped box sitting on his bed with an envelope embellished with familiar handwriting.

His heart thudded in his chest. This was impossible. Dr. Lecter was locked up in his cell; there was no way that he'd delivered this. No way.

And yet…

His hand shook as he picked up the envelope first, mindfully keeping his fingers around the edges as he sliced it open. He expected a letter, but what tumbled out was a very carefully folded drawing of him. His heart felt stuck in his chest as he studied the drawing.

He looked utterly broken and though the entire thing was done in charcoal pencil, he could tell the dark splotches on his hands were meant to be blood. There was a strangely real, wild look in his eyes and he was doubled over on his knees, bleeding. There was a gaping hole where his heart was supposed to be.

He bit his lip and quelled the urge to crumble the portrait, instead setting it aside on the table beside the bed and turning his attention to the box, his heart thrumming very painfully against his ribcage. He didn't want to know what was inside, but he knew that he needed to open it. He needed to know what it was.

He was careful as he cut the paper wrapping, wishing for a moment that he had a pair of gloves to put on. As the plain brown paper fell away he saw an ornate, old box that was a bit withered with age. He bit down on his lower lip hard as he reached out and flipped the golden latch, taking a step back quickly as the lid slowly tipped open.

He stomach turned as he stared down at what was inside, trying to figure out what he was seeing. It didn't register for a long moment and when his mind finally accepted it, he was already halfway out the door with his cell phone in his hand.

"Hotch, you need to get to Maryland. _Now_,"

He didn't wait to hear Hotch's question of what was going on or why he needed to be there. His voice pitched high in his panic and he was barely aware that he was stepping into the elevator to go to the lobby.

"It's Dr. Lecter," he said, and his voice still sounded all wrong. Too high, too quick, too absolutely terrified.

"He just sent me a human heart…"

* * *

Spencer was early the next morning and Hannibal smiled, closing his eyes as the young agent practically stormed down the hall.

"How did you do it?" Spencer's voice was sharp, angry and determined.

Very slowly, he opened his eyes to look at the young man. He was a mess – the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than ever, his skin paler and his hair a disheveled tangle of curls. He allowed himself a tiny smile at Spencer's expense.

"How did I do what?"

Spencer had never seemed quite so angry, "I'm not in the mood for games right now, Dr. Lecter. Whose heart was that?"

Hannibal's eyes sparkled, "Ah, that," he nodded, "Did you enjoy my gift? I thought it was a tad inappropriate but I didn't want to give you something mundane or dull so heart is was."

"Whose heart, Doctor?"

"I'm sure your labs at the FBI can figure that out soon enough for themselves," he said, his tone still pleasant and utterly unruffled. Spencer, on the other hand, seemed to be growing more and more agitated.

"How did it get in my hotel room? Who did you send to put it there?"

"Who says I sent someone, Spencer?"

"Who did you send?" Spencer's teeth were gritting together and he was obviously in pain on top of his anger and fear. "This isn't a game."

"I disagree," Hannibal said, "Just because you're losing at the moment doesn't mean this isn't a game. I'm rather enjoying myself, Spencer."

"Tell me who you got to deliver that package!"

It was a harsh, angry burst that Spencer instantly regretted, his eyes dropping from Hannibal's to stare at his hands as he took deep, harsh breaths.

Hannibal's face hardened at the outburst, his eyes going dark and cold for a split second, the truth of his mask slipping out enough to make Spencer shudder.

"No," he said, "I don't think I will, Spencer. The entertainment in here isn't particularly good and I have become fond of watching you squirm."

Spencer's mouth opened and closed several times, like he was trying to figure out what to say or how to respond. Before he could Barney, the only guard in the place Hannibal had any fondness for, appeared.

He looked curiously between the two before turning to Spencer, "Dr. Reid, your team is here. They're waiting in Dr. Chilton's office."

With a brisk nod, Spencer turned and followed Barney down the hall without a word to Hannibal. Hannibal couldn't help but think that Spencer was being extremely rude. He would have to address that the next time they spoke.

* * *

**A/N: **Will is coming next week! I am very excited for the next part; it's one of my favorites. Lots of fucked up stuff coming up, guys. Brace yourselves. The gore and blood and murder is mostly there.

Don't forget to review!


	11. Part 10B: Breakdown

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **So sorry that I didn't post this yesterday as promised. Yesterday was just... shitty. Really, really shitty. Work and stress and getting school things together for the next semester and bills... I had a bad day and I totally spaced on this, sorry. I will try my hardest not to let it happen again.

Thanks, as always, for the reviews! I hope you're all still enjoying the story!

Warnings for this part are as follows: gore, blood, swearing, blood, gruesome crime scenes, blood, murder. Some discussion of mental illness, but nothing too serious. We're moving a bit closer to the M rated material, but I think we're still within the realm of T. If you guys think the rating needs to be bumped up already though, let me know.

Also: Will! Yay.

Please review!

* * *

**Part 10B: Breakdown**

* * *

"Reid," Prentiss was the first one to greet him as he entered Chilton's office. He didn't meet any of their eyes, already knowing what he would see: concern, worry, pity. It wasn't anything he wanted to deal with at the moment so instead he jumped headlong into the issue at hand.

"He's working with someone on the outside," he said, "He knew I would be arriving yesterday and he knew what time I usually show up. He had to have gotten someone else to break into my hotel room while I was gone."

"We already figured as much," Hotch said, "but the security cameras in the hotel were tampered with. We might be dealing with someone who works at the hotel. Garcia's going through the records."

Reid nodded, his throat felt tight as he took a seat and pressed his fingers into his eyes, "What about the heart?" he asked, "Have you figured out where it came from?"

"Not yet," Rossi said, "they're running DNA tests against his known victims but that'll take a while and according to the ME the heart looked fresh. I don't think this is one of his victims."

"So he got someone to kill for him," Reid wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. "Can they tell how long the heart's been… out?"

"It was kept on ice," Morgan said, "we can't tell much more beyond that. It wasn't damaged, relatively healthy. We won't have much more to go on until they finish the tests."

"We can get a warrant to go through his mail," Seaver began awkwardly, "but… Dr. Chilton told us we probably won't find anything. Lecter destroys a lot of his mail."

Reid nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted, "Most likely," he agreed, "he'll only keep correspondence if it means something to him and he won't have anything that can incriminate him or give us any leads. He's too smart for that."

"That's what we figured," Rossi said, "And since we know Lecter's talking to someone out there, we've got to worry about whether this guy will kill for him again. We can't risk that…"

"So… we're bringing in an expert," Hotch watched Reid's face carefully as he spoke. The young agent's brows furrowed and he frowned.

"An expert?"

"Someone who knows Dr. Lecter," Seaver said, "Will Graham…"

* * *

"I know this makes you uncomfortable, Will -"

Will sneered, "Uncomfortable?" he turned to look at Jack, his glasses slightly askew. "That's not really the right word, Jack."

Jack sighed, "Look, Lecter's working with somebody," he said, "You know him better than –"

"I _knew_ him," Will snapped, "Or at least I thought I did. Before he framed me for murder and shoved a knife in my gut."

"There are lives at stake here," Jack said, "We need to find out who Lecter's dealing with and fast before anyone else dies."

"Yeah, I get it," Will said, "You don't have to convince me, Jack, I already agreed to do this. No clue why…" he muttered sarcastically and shook his head, "As long as I don't have to talk to Hannib – Dr. Lecter, I'll do it."

"You don't have to worry about that; Dr. Reid and Agent Hotchner are going to be speaking with Lecter,"

"Seems a bit risky," Will noted, "Letting Dr. Reid go back in to talk to him after all this."

"He won't talk to anyone without him," Jack said, "It's the quickest way to get this over with."

"That always was your priority, wasn't it?" Will's tone was biting, but he avoided looking at Jack at all as they walked together toward the conference room in the BAU. It had been over three years since Will had set foot in the building and things still looked remarkably the same.

"Find the killer quick, no matter the costs,"

Jack scowled, but let the comment pass, figuring he probably deserved that one.

"Just play nice, Will," he said, "We're all here to do the same thing."

* * *

"Mr. Graham," Will was greeted by a tall man with dark hair. He had the same determined, hard look in his dark eyes that reminded Will of Jack. He held a hand out and Will stared at it for a moment before grasping it, not surprised at the firm grip.

"I'm Agent Hotchner; these are Agents Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and Dr. Reid," he motioned to each agent in turn, "and Cadet Seaver,"

Will only flicked his eyes toward each out of courtesy, not meeting any of their gazes. His attention lingered on Dr. Reid. He was tall and thin and gangly, too pale and obviously hadn't slept. If he'd been spending time with Lecter, Will wasn't surprised.

He realized they were expecting him to say something, but instead he moved toward the evidence board which was sadly empty.

"This is everything you have?"

There were pictures of the heart – thick and deep brown and purple, bits of congealed blood clinging to it in some places. Whoever it had belonged to, it had been removed in its entirety, but it wasn't the same familiar, precise cuts that he knew Dr. Lecter was capable of.

"This definitely wasn't Lecter," he said, still staring at the heart. He heard someone – probably Agent Hotchner, though he wasn't really listening – say something to the affirmative. His attention was drawn away from the photos and to the black and white sketch that was taped there as well.

"This was…" he reached out and touched the drawing, a faint frown on his face.

"You didn't get anything from the hotel cameras?"

"No," that was definitely Hotchner, "They were tampered with. We're already pulling records from all the employees at the hotel."

"And I assume you didn't find anything in his mail?"

"Nothing,"

"It'd be easier if you knew who the heart belonged to," Will said. He still hadn't turned away from the evidence board. It was much more manageable to stare at the disembodied heart than it was to look at the profilers in the room. They were all tense and on edge, wanting something to do.

"We're working on it,"

"Well, if your goal is the save lives, work faster," he was being an ass and he knew it, but he didn't care. Over three years of spending time pretty much isolated from everyone except his dogs and that's what would happen. He already had poor enough people skills when he'd had to interact with people everyday.

He waited until he heard them leaving to turn around, not surprised to find that Dr. Reid was still standing there, staring at him. It was a strangely piercing stare, like he was trying to lift the thoughts right out of his head. He tried not think about how that reminded him of Hannibal.

"You just gonna stand there?"

"How well did you know Dr. Lecter?"

"Not well enough apparently," Will said, looking at the other man's face, but avoiding his slightly bloodshot eyes.

His face was pinched, the pale skin taut and drawn tight to his bones. It wasn't just stress and fear that were plaguing him; this man was in pain. Will decided not to mention it.

"I only asked because he talks about you," Dr. Reid continued, still studying his face in a way that made Will very uncomfortable.

"Does he?" Will tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice hitched a bit too much. He was actually grateful when Dr. Reid didn't comment on that.

"He seems very… _fond_ of you,"

Will snorted, "So his way of showing that is by trying to kill me? Interesting…"

Reid sighed, sounding thoroughly exasperated as he continued to stare at Will. He thought maybe the other man was done speaking until he asked,

"Did you and Hannibal Lecter have a sexual relationship?"

Will blinked, "You don't beat around the bush do you?" he asked, a small smile on his face. "You know, you're the first person to actually ask that. I think everyone else was just scared if they did I might actually break…"

"You didn't answer the question, Mr. Graham,"

"Yes,"

If he was surprised at Will's blunt answer, he didn't show it. Then again, there was no telling what Lecter had told him. They had been talking to each other for over a year.

"Why?"

"I was curious,"

"Ah, curious…" Will nodded thoughtfully, "Why? Do _you_ want a sexual relationship with him?"

Reid blinked, suddenly flustered, "Of course not," he said abruptly, his pale face pink with blush. Will could definitely see what Lecter saw in the young doctor. He practically screamed his emotions with his expressions. He imagined Hannibal enjoyed that about him.

He didn't get a chance to ask anything else. Dr. Reid left quickly after that, saying something about helping his team with the hotel records. Will didn't mind. He sat down by himself at the conference table and began sifting through the stack of letters they'd confiscated from Lecter's cell.

This should be fun…

* * *

"It's nice to finally put a face to the name, Agent Hotchner," Hannibal said, polite as ever when Spencer and the other agent sat down across from him in the cell. Hannibal had hoped that they would allow him to be in an interrogation room to speak, but they didn't trust him outside of the cell, apparently. Smart move, he had to admit.

"I heard about the loss of your ex-wife several months ago; it's a pity,"

Agent Hotchner was much better at controlling his facial expressions than Spencer was. He remained impassive as ever, even at the mention of his dead ex. He reminded Hannibal very much of Jack, though perhaps a bit less distant than Crawford was. The way he angled his body slightly toward Spencer and the way his dark eyes burned with anger was enough for Hannibal to know he took the gift he'd sent to Spencer very personally.

"Dr. Lecter, whose heart was that?"

"I'm sure you've already determined that I could not possibly have killed whoever that heart belonged to; why do you assume that I know who the victim is?"

"Because whoever died, was killed at your request," Spencer's voice was sharp, his eyes burning just a bit.

He inhaled sharply, catching a strangely familiar scent as he did. He frowned a bit as he leaned forward, continuing to try and place the faint scent as he spoke, "You seem to have figured out a great deal already then. I don't see why you need my help to connect the rest."

"Who are you communicating with?" Hotchner's voice was cold, "Who did you get to deliver that package?"

Hannibal smiled, "I'm sure you can figure this out on your own. Besides, it wouldn't be much fun if I simply supplied you with the answers, would it? Far too easy."

He was beginning to recognize the scent and his smile suddenly turned speculative as he tilted his head, catching Spencer's eyes for a long moment.

"Or perhaps you don't really need my help at all. You neglected to mention that Will Graham was assisting you,"

That certainly surprised Agent Hotchner. His nostrils flared slightly, his eyes widening as he stared at him. He started to object, but Hannibal wouldn't let him lie to him. He was no idiot and he _knew_ that scent.

"I can smell his aftershave," Hannibal said, "I would recognize that atrocious scent anywhere. I told him to change it. Tell me, why is Will not the one down here interrogating me?"

"He didn't want to see you," Spencer's words were blunt and Hannibal was surprised at the hostility he noted there.

"He didn't? That's strange…"

"Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you nearly eviscerated him?" Spencer suggested. His words were still heated and Hannibal smiled a bit at him.

"Perhaps… We did not part on friendly terms, I suppose. How is he?"

"That's none of your concern, Dr. Lecter," Hotchner was quick to jump in, leaning forward, his eyes scanning Lecter's empty cell. As punishment for his little gift, his drawings and books had been removed from the cell and he was left with nothing aside from his bed. It was very irritating, but Hannibal figured it was also worth it.

"If you can tell us who delivered your package, we can talk to the Chief of Staff and try to get your books return to you, Doctor," Hannibal suspected he would have continued, but his cell phone began trilling a loud and annoying sound at his hip and he glanced down at it. It must have been serious because he stood and unclipped it from his belt.

"Garcia?"

What followed was a short, clipped conversation comprised mostly of "Are you sure?"s and "Alright,"s from Agent Hotchner. Judging from the way he kept glancing down at Spencer, however, Hannibal thought it safe to assume they had discovered the identity of the heart's owner.

Hannibal grinned and Spencer shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, turning his attention to his boss. As soon as Hotchner hung up from his call, he turned to leave.

"Reid, we need go,"

"But Hotch, we -"

"Now, Reid!" Hotch barked. Reid frowned and was quick to follow his boss down the hall, his bewildered expression turning into worry as the Unit Chief took him by the arm as they exited the cell-block and gave him a long look before asking,

"When was the last time you spoke to your father?"

* * *

The small bedroom was ripe with the smell of blood as Will entered it, almost gagging. It had been far too long since he'd actually been at a crime scene. The Las Vegas heat had not been kind to the decaying body and Will had to wonder how he'd gone so many days without being discovered. The smell hung in the air, thick and palpable. He felt crowded without anyone else there and almost jumped when he heard quiet footsteps behind him.

He turned slightly to see Dr. Reid standing there, his eyes wide and his mouth partly open. He was even paler than he had been before and he looked like he was going to be sick.

Not that Will could blame him. As far as crime scenes went, this was pretty gruesome. The man lay on the bed, spread eagle. His wrists and feet had been tied down, deep purple bruises marring the flesh. There were defensive wounds on his arms, but he couldn't tell if there were any on the face; it was already so bashed in and cut up it was barely recognizable.

He was shirtless, the skin flayed from his chest and hanging on by about an inch of fat and muscle. His ribcage appeared to have been ripped open with someone's bare hands.

The lungs were a shredded mess and there was so much blood; it sunk into the blanket and sheets and was splattered in a huge red arc across the wall and ceiling. The smell was cloying and thick.

It was difficult to tell from the angle, but it looked like his shoulders were dislocated and beneath the bloody, pulverized mess that had been his face, Will was certain his eyes had been gouged out viciously, the sockets bloody and black. A knife had probably been used.

This was brutal and messy and angry. Nothing like Hannibal's kills, that much was for certain. There was no art, there was no rhyme or reason, no deeper purpose behind the display…

Well, none other than the effect it appeared to be having on Dr. Reid.

He heard the young man make a sick noise and glanced at his pale face again, "Were you close to your father?" he asked.

"No…" the words were choked. He looked down quickly, pressing a free hand into his eyes. "Not really."

Will nodded, turning back to face the scene. He wasn't even aware that Dr. Reid had stepped out until he heard the soft click of the door behind him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them slowly to look at body with new eyes…

* * *

"How much did you tell Lecter about your father?"

"I told you, Hotch," Reid's voice was strained, "nothing! I never even told him where I was from."

"You had to have told him something, Reid," Prentiss was trying to be gentle as she leaned forward, watching her friend try to control his emotions. "Why else would he have sent this guy after him?"

Reid just shook his head, "I'm telling you I didn't tell him anything. I'm not an idiot. I didn't give him my personal information."

"You told him something, Kid," Morgan was almost whispering he was talk so softly. Reid felt the irrational urge to punch him for being so damn patronizing. He wasn't a child. He was a grown man and he could take care of himself.

"I didn't tell him anything. The only thing he knows about my dad is that he left when I was ten. I never told him more than that. Not his name, not where he lived or what he does…"

"Just telling him he abandoned you was enough," Will's voice behind him made Reid jumped and he whirled around to stare at the other man. Will looked exhausted, pale and strung out. Reid realized he wasn't the only one losing sleep over this.

"Dr. Lecter can take even the tiniest bit of personal information and use it against you," he said, "So when he heard your dad ditched you, he probably decided to punish him for it." His lips turned up in a sarcastic smile and he snatched his glasses off, rubbing his eyes, "A father abandoning his child is… _rude_."

Reid sighed, shoulders falling. His face was still pinched with pain and Will was frankly surprised no one else had noticed it yet. There was something very wrong with Spencer Reid, but he was doing his damndest to hide it. He again opted not to mention it.

"We're gonna need to know everything you talked to him about," Hotch said, "if he asked this guy to kill someone else, we'll need as many leads as we can find."

* * *

"_You remind me of him, you know,"_

"_Of Will Graham?"_

"_Yes. You are both consumed by misplaced guilt and overwhelming emotion. It's quite fascinating."_

"_I'm not him, Dr. Lecter,"_

"_Of course not. …But the similarities are quite astonishing,"_

"I told you he talked about you,"

Will jumped and spun to see Dr. Reid standing behind him. He'd been listening to the recordings of Dr. Reid and Dr. Lecter's conversations for the past few hours, trying to find anything that might help them figure out who else Hannibal might target in the agent's life. So far there was no one except members of his team and his mother. All easily protected.

He hadn't gotten much from the crime scene. It was brutal and messy, but detached. Whoever had killed William Reid had done so only because Hannibal asked him to. He wanted to please Hannibal, to make him proud. To impress him. That was the reason for the brutality and the gruesome theatricality of the scene. Whoever they were, they were a fan. The FBI was already looking into anyone who had ever sent Hannibal letters, but there were a surprisingly large number of people to go through.

He paused the recording on the tablet and frowned, watching Dr. Reid wince as he took a long drag off his coffee.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

"My father was just murdered, Mr. Graham -"

"No, I mean physically," Will cut him off, frowning at him, "I noticed it earlier. You're in pain. A lot of pain. And you're hiding it."

"It's just a headache,"

"A headache?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Graham," Reid's voice was stiff, "We should really be focusing on the case."

"Did you see a doctor?" Will asked, not willing to drop the subject just yet. Whatever else was going on, Will could certain see the similarities between himself and this man and he felt the irresistible urge to make sure he didn't end up like he had.

"He said there was nothing wrong with me," Will recognized that sharp tone. It was the same one he'd used when he'd told Hannibal what Dr. Sutcliffe had told him about his MRI.

He nodded slowly, "Want my advice?" he asked, meeting Reid's eyes for the briefest of moments, "Get a second opinion."

* * *

Reid tossed and turned in his bed that night, his dreams consumed with images of his father, brutalized and murdered and dripping his own blood; Hannibal and some faceless man with a knife, groveling at Hannibal's feet. Ever since his headaches had started he hadn't had many nightmares. Then again, he hadn't been sleeping much either.

He woke up, his heart pounding his chest, and shuffled against his headboard, pressing a hand to his throbbing temples and trying to will the pain to go away. He forced himself to breathe in and out slowly for several seconds, allowing his heart rate to return to normal.

His head was still aching, but it was nothing that a few aspirin couldn't manage. He fumbled his way out of bed and felt along the bedside table, frowning when he realized the bottle he kept there was gone. He could have sworn he'd left it there that morning before heading to the office. Was his memory slipping?

That thought terrified him more than anything. His memory was what he had, it was the _only_ thing he had. Without it, how could he be Spencer Reid? He'd never lived in a world without his memory to help him.

He swallowed roughly and told himself it was just the stress of the last few weeks, that was all. He wasn't forgetting things; too much was simply happening at once.

He made his way to the bathroom where he kept the extra bottles and froze when he heard a faint creaking outside in the hall. His heart rate started to climb again as he went to the safe beside his bed and pulled out his spare revolver.

Checking the chamber, he realized it was empty and pulled open the drawer to get more bullets. The bullets were missing.

His chest felt tight against his frantically beating heart, but he swallowing the fear and slid the chamber closed. No one had to know the gun was empty. It might be enough to scare someone off.

He crept out of the room and wished that he had left his cell phone on the bedside table instead of tossing it on the coffee table in the living room after a frustrating conversation with Rossi.

The apartment was dark and there was no one in sight as he made his way quietly down the hall. He knew the space well enough that he didn't need the light anyway, which at least gave him some small advantage.

There was a tinkle of glass and the quiet thud of a cabinet being closed and he turned toward the kitchen, swallowing painfully. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was only making his headache worse, which in turn only made it more difficult to focus, but he blinked his eyes and forced himself to move against the pain.

The kitchen was empty whenever he entered it and he let his shoulders fall a bit as his eyes scanned every inch of the place. Maybe his mind really _was_ playing tricks on him. The thought was only mildly comforting when the implications of what that could mean swam through his head.

Just as he turned to search the rest of the apartment more thoroughly – and grab his cell phone from the living room – a heavy hand came down around his shoulders and he spun, fighting against iron like fingers.

His attacker grunted and threw and arm out, shoving him backwards. He dropped the useless gun and slamming into his counter tops, wincing as the hard surface bit sharply into his back.

He spun to see who it was, but it was dark and he could only make out that the man was nearly as tall as him, more muscularly built and holding what looked very much like one of his own kitchen knives.

His stomach bottomed out as the silvery blade glinted in the dim moonlight and he just barely ducked out of the way as the man slashed at him again. He fell to his knees and crawled away, forcing himself back onto his feet when his attacker spun to find him again.

He spotted the gun where it had clattered to the ground and dove for it, the man grunting as he rammed hard into his shoulder. Pain flared up in his lower arm, fiery and vicious, but ultimately not lethal. He could feel the hot blood seeping out, but ignored it, fingers fumbling toward the gun.

He snatched it up in time to see his attacker come at him again, the blood gleaming like oil on the knife as he swung again. He missed this time, but Spencer was ready and one well aimed hit with the gun caught him in the temple.

He swayed, stumbled and reached up to touch the no doubt bloody wound on his head, but it didn't stop him for long before he lunged at Spencer again and managed to knock him down, straddling him on the floor of his kitchen.

His head was throbbing with such intensity that he could hardly see anything at that point, but he saw the knife coming toward his face and reacted without thinking, latching both hands onto his wrists to stop the sharp blade.

His own blood dripped down onto his face and the gash in his arm was screaming in pain, but he fought with all his strength to keep the man's hands where there were, poised in mid-strike. He shoved back, his gut clenching painfully with the movement and wriggled under the man's heavier weight.

One of his legs were free and though the angle was awkward and painful, he managed to kick up, thankful for his long limbs when his foot connected with the man's back. The blow wasn't particularly powerful, but it was enough to surprise him and his grip around the knife weakened for a second.

That was all Reid needed to rip the knife away from him, cutting his hand in the process and plunge it blindly into the other man. Through the red haze of pain and the darkness, he didn't realize how much blood he had on him, the moment seeming to last an eternity as he stabbed and jerked back, shoving the man off of him and stabbing again and again in his panic.

By the time the red haze cleared, he was sitting on his knees, knife in hand, breathing hard.

Heart thudding more slowly now, Spencer belatedly realized how much clearer his mind felt; the pain of the headache all but gone. He dropped the knife, his eyes wide, and stumbled to his feet, fumbling with sticky hands for the light switch.

The scene before him was like so many crime scenes he'd seen over the years. Blood was everywhere. On his hands, on his clothes, in a huge puddle on the floor. It was red and slippery, thick, but not congealing yet. It was already starting to feel sticky beneath his bare feet as he scrambled back and tried to study the scene with objective eyes.

The man's neck had at least two deep stab wounds – which probably accounted for most of the blood – and his chest was ripped to shreds. The blood on his clothes looked black where it had stained. He didn't recognize the man's face, but that didn't really matter at the moment. His eyes were wide open and glazed over with death, staring up at nothing.

Spencer was only dimply aware of his own relatively harmless wounds – a deep gash in his arm and a cut along his palm from wrestling the knife away. He looked down at his hands, coated in sticky, bright red blood and fought the urge to vomit. He could feel it collecting under his fingernails and sinking into the creases of his palms. Idly, he wondered if he would ever be able to wash the stain out of his skin. It felt as if the blood were seeping into his very pores.

His pajama pants were soaked, red and black and wet. His shirt was no better, the thin fabric drenched in the stranger's blood. He could feel the slowly drying wetness or more blood against his face and almost reached up to wipe it away before he remembered that his hands were covered as well.

Swallowing roughly, he stumbled to his living room, ignoring the bloody trail of footprints that followed behind him, and fumbled with his cell phone, wincing as his bloody fingers squeaked against the keypad.

His voice shook terribly as he spoke, "M-Morgan… You need to call the rest of the team… I think I just found who Lecter was working with…"

* * *

"How's he doing?" Rossi's voice was quiet as he came to stand beside Hotch. The red and blue lights of cop cars had faded long ago and they were both staring at Reid, the young man looking small and fragile in the back of an ambulance while an EMT looked over his injured hand.

"He's in shock," Hotch said, "but he'll be fine."

Rossi glanced back toward the apartment and frowned, "Sure about that?"

"No…" Hotch sighed and shook his head, his entire body seeming to fall a bit as he glanced over at the older man.

"He still hasn't said anything?"

"Not yet,"

"I'm sure there's an explanation," Rossi tried to sound optimistic, but Hotch scoffed, a bitter, horrible sound.

"There'd better be,"

"There is,"

"Did you see the body, Dave?" Hotch turned demanding eyes on him and Rossi shrugged, not meeting his gaze.

"This is Reid," he said, "He'd never do that without a reason."

"I hope you're right."

* * *

"I heard you were heading back to Florida tomorrow," Reid's voice was stiff and a bit hollow as Will watched him pack up his things from his desk.

"I heard you were taking a leave of absence to go to Vegas,"

He nodded, "I have to figure out things for my dad's estate," he said, "and I haven't visited my mom for a while."

"When you do come back -"

"_If_," Dr. Reid looked up sharply, his hazel eyes dark and as hollow as his voice. "If I come back."

Will nodded, "If," he corrected, "if you do, just do yourself a favor: stay away from Dr. Lecter."

"I'll remember that," Reid nodded and Will felt a bit of the tightness that had developed in his chest ease up. Maybe now that this was over Dr. Reid would at least be safe. A couple of small scars and a dead father were a high price to pay, but at least he was alive.

"Good," he nodded, feeling the normal awkwardness that social interaction usually brought creeping up on him. "And don't forget that second opinion. Doctors aren't always right. I should know."

* * *

Hannibal's grin was surprised as he studied the man standing across from him, "I didn't expect to see you here,"

Will bit his lip and avoided looking at Hannibal, "I didn't expect to be here,"

"I heard you didn't want to see me,"

"I didn't,"

"Then why are you here, Will? It's been so long…"

"I'm here because of Dr. Reid,"

"Ah," Hannibal's eyes lit up, "Did you meet him? Remarkable isn't he?"

Will's jaw tightened, "Whatever you're doing with him, needs to stop."

"Does it?"

Will took a deep breath and shook his head, feeling constricted and trapped despite the fact that Hannibal was the one in the cage.

"He's a good man, Hannibal. Leave him alone,"

Hannibal grinned, "You were a good man too, once, my dear Will…"

He flinched and looked down at his hands, sighing heavily.

"I was," he said softly, looking up and locking eyes with the monster that he'd thought he'd loved. "Once."

* * *

**A/N: **Seriously had fun writing this one. I mean, it's fucked up, but I loved it. Lots more Will in the next part guys, just a heads up. It's mostly Will and Hannibal in Part 11.

Hope you enjoyed it! Please don't forget to review!


	12. Part 11: Shake it Out

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks for the awesome reviews, guys! You're amazing. Glad you're all enjoying this progressively more fucked up mess.

Now, this part is a bit longer than any of the others so far so be prepared for that. And, as I said before, this will have a lot more Will and a bit less Reid.

Warnings for this chapter are as follows: animal death, violence toward animals, gore, blood, disturbing images, death and some insight into Will and Hannibal delightfully fucked up relationship.

Title is taken from the Florence + the Machine song "Shake it Out"

Please don't forget to review!

* * *

**Part 11: Shake it Out**

* * *

"I don't think it's a good idea, Jack," Hotch shook his head, "Reid's barely starting to adjust to being back at work again. He's not in a good place right now. After Emily -"

"I know, I know," Jack nodded, "Losing Agent Prentiss was a bad blow and Dr. Reid's already been through a lot, but I really think he could help us on this one, Aaron. We're stuck."

"You've got an entire team of profilers," Hotch said, "They're good at their jobs. Why don't you let them do it?"

Jack took a deep breath, "Ever since Will Graham left, my team has been missing a valuable asset. My people are good, but they're not the best. Hannibal Lecter was the best forensic psychiatrist we've ever used."

"And he was also a serial killer," Hotch said, "you need to let it go. You can solve this one without his help, Jack. If you're so desperate for help, why not ask other agents?"

"Because people are dying, Aaron," he stressed, "innocent families are being butchered in their homes and we don't have enough to find this guy yet. Lecter can help. He's good at that."

"He's also good at twisting everything to his advantage," Hotch reminded him, "I don't think this is a good idea."

Jack nodded and steepled his fingers, pursing his lips for a moment. "Alright," he said, "I understand… but don't you think we should at least leave this up to Dr. Reid? It is his decision, in the end."

* * *

"Absolutely not," Reid was adamant as he stared at Jack, his hands shaking a bit. He'd been more than a little surprised when Jack Crawford asked to speak with him – calling him 'Agent Reid', no less – but now it made perfect sense. Crawford wanted Lecter's help, but there was no way Hannibal would speak to him so he needed someone he knew he would be willing to talk to.

"Dr. Reid -"

"Do you remember what happened the last time I spoke with Dr. Lecter, Agent Crawford?"

Jack sighed, closing his eyes, "I know it's asking a lot, -"

"_My father was murdered_," Reid's voice pitched high and he scowled, "and now you're going to sit across from me with a straight face and ask me to go and ask the man who caused his death if he can _help_ find another killer?"

"I don't appreciate sarcasm, Reid,"

"It wasn't sarcasm," Reid spat, "it was the truth. I'm not going to talk to him, Agent Crawford. I've lost enough friends, wouldn't you agree?"

His eyes shone with faint tears and Jack deflated a bit, his expression softening as he stared across at the younger man.

"I know you just lost a colleague, Dr. Reid," he said gently, "I understand that you're still trying to readjust to being in the field, but lives are at stake. We could really use Dr. Lecter's help on this one."

"Friend," Reid's voice was quiet as he stared at Jack, "Emily wasn't just a colleague, she was my friend and she's dead. I just returned from a very long extended leave and I am not willing to risk my life or anyone else's by bringing in a serial killer as a consult. If you want Dr. Lecter's help, use someone from your own team."

* * *

"Will!" Reid blinked and stepped back, almost stumbling a bit as he took in the sight of the other man. It had been two weeks since his conversation with Jack Crawford and he'd expected that the other agent had probably gone to Will as a last resort. He'd never expected Will to actually show up.

"Dr. Reid," Will inclined his head, but he didn't actually smile or make eye contact. Not that Reid minded all that much.

"Are you helping Jack on the Tooth Fairy case?" Reid asked the question delicately, not quite sure how to phrase it.

Will nodded curtly, "Jack roped me into it," he sounded a bit weary as he spoke, like he wasn't totally sure this was the best thing for him to be doing – after all, the last time Jack had pulled him into the field things had gone horribly, horribly wrong. But he was resolved to see it through to the finish.

"I'm surprised you agreed to do this," Reid said, knowing Will didn't want to talk, but needing to have this delay anyway. He was supposed to be in Hotch's office soon, for his 'grief assessment'. Anything to stall that conversation was more than welcome.

"Yeah, well Jack's a bastard, but he's also pretty damn manipulative too," Will muttered, his voice a bit dark as he eyed the corner of Reid's shoulder.

"Maybe," Reid agreed slowly, "but still, with everything that happened between you and Dr. Lecter I thought you'd never want to talk to him again."

"What?"

Reid blinked at Will's sharp tone and frowned a bit, "Jack wants Dr. Lecter's help on the case… he didn't mention that to you?"

"No," Will sounded strained, his fists clenching a bit, "No he didn't. Excuse me…"

He moved off toward Jack's office quickly, fury burning behind his eyes as he did. Moments later, Reid could hear the slightly raised voice of Will Graham followed by the low tremble of Jack's faux patience and concern.

He scowled and tried not to be too angry. Jack had a point about how helpful Lecter could be, but still, it seemed incredibly cold to rope Will into this without disclosing everything first. For Jack to even expect him to do this after what Hannibal had done to Will…

He shook his head and forced his thoughts to travel to other things. His headaches, which were still getting worse, Prentiss, catching Ian Doyle… They weren't pleasant thoughts, but they were grounding thoughts at the very least. Things to keep his mind from wandering too far.

* * *

_Will shakes with an intensity he's never felt before. His entire body is taut, ready to explode. Vibrating with violent, chaotic energy. He feels like he's on fire, like he's about to explode with the feeling. It's consuming. It's terrifying. It's wonderful._

_Hannibal's hand comes down on his shoulder, squeezing just slightly. Enough pressure to be friendly, but teetering into the threatening. His shaking stalls, slowing down enough that he can remember how to form words, thoughts and sentences that are more than cursory observations of vague concepts._

"_It's you, isn't it?" his voice shakes, his words cracked and broken. Like his soul. "It's always been you."_

"_What is me, Will?"_

_Hannibal. Always so damn calm, even when he's being accused of murder. Fucking bastard._

"_You know what I'm talking about," Will spits the words viciously, meaning for them to be violent, but they're too shaky to be anything but a terrible plea. __**Please, please, please tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm crazy. Tell me anything but that it's true. Please.**_

_Hannibal doesn't deny it. He sighs heavily and his hand falls away from Will's shoulder. Will can hear his footsteps coming around the chair until he's standing right in front of him. Even with his eyes clenched as tightly as they'll go he can feel the warmth of Hannibal's body as he leans down, caging Will in with his arms on either side of the chair._

"_Will,"_

_The voice is soft. A gentle, coaxing sound to quell his panicked tremors. It doesn't work. The hands move to his face, cradling his jaw gently._

"_Will, look at me,"_

_Very slowly, he obeys, his eyes opening to find Hannibal right in front of him. He wants to look anywhere but at Hannibal's eyes, but they're all he can see. He'd always thought they were brown, but up close they look so __**red.**__ Like blood. That's exactly what they look like. Like they've been soaked in drying blood._

_Will's stomach turns._

"_Will…" Hannibal is still speaking calmly, so slowly. Like he's talking to a scared animal. Is that what he is? Is he a scared animal? He feels so trapped._

"_Who am I, Will?"_

_Will swallows hard, his throat convulsing around the words, trying to shove them away. Trying to make them fade from existence forever._

"_You're him," he says, "you're the Chesapeake Ripper. You're a serial killer…"_

"_What else, Will? Keep going,"_

_Will shakes, reaching up grasp Hannibal's wrists. He doesn't try to pull them away – he isn't strong enough if he wanted to – rather he grips them tight, like a lifeline. Like they're the only thing keep him afloat._

"_Y-You're the copy cat," he whispers, "You killed Cassie Boyle. You killed Marissa Shore… You… oh my god."_

_His stomach abruptly lurches as the next revelation hits him harder than he expected. "You're a cannibal…"_

_Hannibal's fingers stoke his face softly. He never breaks eye contact, forcing Will to look into his eyes the entire time. He nods carefully, his face impassive as ever._

"_Yes, Will," he says. It sounds strangely like he's proud. Like he's been waiting for this moment all along. Like a father beaming down at his son for a job well-done. Like a teacher praising a student. Will's stomach gives another lurch._

"_I am all of these things, Will," he says, "…but you don't need to be afraid. I would never hurt you, Will."_

"_W-What?" Will's breath catches, his eyes widening a bit._

_Hannibal's lips quirk, not quite a smile, but not quite the immovable stone he had been a moment ago._

"_You are special, Will," he says gently, "We are equals, you and I. The same. The only question now is… Since you have figured it out, where do we go from here?"_

_Will's mind races, staring into his eyes, torn between the voice telling him that this is Hannibal. This is his only friend in the world, the only person he truly trusts. The only person he's ever allowed to see past his forts._

_And the voice of morality, of reason and justice telling him that Hannibal is a monster. A liar, a shark, a snake. A wolf among sheep. A vicious god among men._

_He swallows hard and lunges forward, desperation eking out of his pores as he closes his lips around Hannibal's and shuts his eyes against the nightmares he can see while he's awake._

_Hannibal smiles and everything is alright._

* * *

Will jolted up out of bed, shivering against the cold air in the room. His breath came in hard, angry pants. The bed and his clothes were soaked through with sweat and he wrinkled his nose against the powerful smell.

He'd been to talk to Hannibal that morning at Jack's behest. Despite his insistence that this was a very, very bad idea, Jack wanted the Tooth Fairy caught before he killed another family and what was Will supposed to do about that?

People were dying. They needed to find this guy and Hannibal definitely knew more than he was saying. Will just had to keep his distance. He could do that. He would rebuild his forts every day if he had to.

He got dressed slowly, carefully easing his aching body into movement. A night of tossing and turning on an unfamiliar bed left him feeling stiff and ill-rested. He thought wistfully of his dogs back in Florida, of the friendly couple next door who were watching them for him.

He kept his mind on the dogs the entire drive to the BAU, trying to keep all thoughts of the killer out of his head. He'd promised himself he wouldn't get close this time. He would use whatever buffer he had at his disposal if he had to. He'd even call Alana, though he doubted very much if she wanted to see him.

The crime lab was cold, colder than the hotel room had been. Will didn't shiver though, finding the cold bracing now that the last vestiges of his nightmare were gone. The cold helped him focus.

He smiled at Beverly as he entered and stepped up close to her, looking down. He never met her eyes and she didn't comment, standing quietly there, watching him.

"Are these the fingerprints you found on Mrs. Leeds' eye?" he asked, glancing up carefully.

"Yeah," she nodded, "it's only a partial, but it'll be enough for us to get a match if we have something to actually compare it to. Thanks to you,"

Will frowned, "The evidence was already there," he muttered.

"But you saw it," Bev pointed out, "no one else did."

Will frowned, keeping his eyes trained on the evidence in front of him. Bits of bloodied glass pulled from the victims' eyes, a Petri dish containing the trace amounts of talcum powder found on the women's thighs. Photographs of broken mirrors, children's dolls splattered with blood.

Semen swabs and bloody clothing.

For a moment, he lost himself in the evidence, his mind going back to the crime scene in Atlanta. To the blood bedroom where two dead children had been posed to watch their dead parents. To a bathroom with a broken mirror and a dog that had to be put down because of a severe puncture wound to the abdomen.

"I'd say it's good to have you back," Bev's voice pulled him out of the killer's mind and he blinked several times. She didn't seem to notice. "but under the circumstances…"

"Right," Will nodded, "People are dying. Not really something to celebrate."

"You are alright, though," she said gently, "Aren't you, Will? I mean… After -"

"I'm fine," Will cut her off, "I feel 100 percent stable. Definitely not sick this time." He looked at her face, but didn't meet her eyes. She pressed her lips together and nodded, studying him carefully, like she could steal all his secrets if she stood there long enough.

Without warning, she stepped closer, invading his personal space and wrapping her arms around his neck. She wasn't a big hugger. She was almost as surprised as Will was by the action, but she couldn't stop herself.

After a long moment of wide-eyed panic from Will, he slowly relaxed and awkwardly returned the hug, swallowing nervously as she pulled back, a tiny smile on her lips.

"Sorry…" she said, "it's just… You looked like you could use a hug,"

* * *

"How close did you and Dr. Lecter get?" Dr. Reid's voice was searching. Honestly curious and obviously trying to keep his mind busy.

Will pursed his lips, picking at his food. He still wasn't sure why he'd agreed to have lunch with Dr. Reid. It wasn't really a work thing and it wasn't really a sociable thing. It was somewhere strangely in between, where things made less sense and they weren't colleagues, but they also weren't friends.

"Did you ever get that second opinion?" he glanced up at the younger man, giving him a sharp look.

He looked away quickly, nodding, "I'm looking into it," he said, "I found a highly certified neurologist, but I haven't contacted her yet…" he bit his lip, "I'm not sure if I want to know the answer."

"Any answer is better than no answer," Will sounded bitter. Probably because he was. He pushed those thoughts away and glanced up at Reid again.

"Does he still write you?" he asked curiously.

Reid laughed a bit, nodding. "I keep trying to convince myself to throw them out without reading them…"

"But that's impossible," Will smiled faint, "I know the feeling."

Reid nodded, clearing his throat and pushing his foot around with his fork. "He wrote to be after – after Emily…" he trailed off, his knuckles going white for a moment. "He said he was sorry she had to die. That he didn't know her, but h-he knew it would _upset_ me."

Will only nodded. That definitely sounded like Hannibal.

They ate in silence for a long moment before Dr. Reid cleared his throat, "Can I ask you a question?"

Will hesitated before nodding, watching Reid's expression carefully.

"You said you and Dr. Lecter had a sexual relationship…" he began, a bit awkwardly, "Did that start before or after you realized what he was?"

Will blanched, looking away from Dr. Reid immediately, "I don't know what -"

"No, no, no," Reid cut him off, "you don't have to lie. I know you knew before you 'caught' him. I'm just curious which came first."

Will frowned, looking back up and meeting his eyes for a sharp, tense second.

"Before," he said, his voice cracked a bit. "It started before."

"And when you realized…?"

Will's smile was bitter, "And when I realized… well, he was the only person I thought cared about me, Dr. Reid. He was all I had. Can you imagine I'd let that go so easily?"

Reid lowered his eyes, frowning, "I'm just trying to get the entire picture. It never made sense to me… What changed your mind?"

Will made a face, his eyes going dark, "Abigail Hobbs,"

"You cared about her,"

"I felt _responsible_ for her," Will corrected, "And she didn't deserve that, no matter – no matter what she did."

Reid nodded to himself and they once again fell into silence, this time not speaking again until they parted and said goodbye.

* * *

"You seem tense, Will,"

"I am tense," Will snapped, glaring at Hannibal through the glass. "There's a serial killer loose out there and you know more than you're telling me."

Hannibal smiled, "You can't expect me to supply you with the answers, dear Will," he said, "you must solve the puzzle on your own if you want to learn anything."

"Damn it!" Will snapped, jumping from the chair and just barely stopping himself from punching the glass, "I'm not here to learn anything, Hannibal! Put me next to him! Let me see his face! That's what I want."

"No,"

Will's teeth ground against each other and he took several deep breaths, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the glass. His mind drifted for a moment.

"_You – You killed her!"_

"_I'm sorry, Will," Hannibal croons in his ear, wrapping a hand gently around his shoulder. Will jerks away from the touch like it's burning._

"_She was getting too close, Will. It had to be done."_

"_YOU KILLED HER!" Will screams and his throat hurts but he doesn't care. He whirls around to face Hannibal._

"_You cut her throat and you watched her bleed out…"_

"_You know what I am, Will," Hannibal says, soothing and calm. Usually Will finds that comforting. Now he finds it insulting. Patronizing and manipulative._

"_You killed her and you left evidence that it was __**me**__," Will's voice is strangled. "Do you… do you think I'm an idiot, Hannibal? That I wouldn't notice that?"_

_Hannibal's eyes darken, "I am a survivor, Will," he says patiently, "Do you imagine that if it came down to a choice between my freedom and yours I would chose yours?"_

_Will's blood feels like it's boiling. Everything is tinged with red and black, like blood and night. Like fury and fire. His heart thunders in his chest._

"_You didn't care about me at all, did you? What the hell was I to you, Dr. Lecter? A plaything? Some fucking toy to screw around with? See how far you could push me? You bastard."_

_His voice is warbling, thick with tears that he wants to badly to shed, but he can't cry in front of Hannibal. He'd enjoy that too much._

"_You are not just a toy, Will," Hannibal speaks evenly. He hasn't raised his voice once and Will hates him all the more for that. He wants the bastard to scream, to yell, to threaten him. Something to make him feel like the shattering that's happening inside his soul is okay._

"_You're special."_

"_You're a liar," Will snaps, "You're a fucking liar. I can't believe I – I thought I loved you… I was so stupid…"_

_He turns, his mind racing, his chest aching and his eyes burning. He feels constricted. He can't breathe. He needs to get out. He is only partly aware of his feet moving and that's when Hannibal strikes._

_His grip is powerful. Fingers digging into his shoulder hard enough to bruise. A hand wraps tightly around his neck, nails digging into flesh like knives. Hot blood trickles out and Will gasps, kicking and hitting. His eyes bulge out and then there's a sharp, fiery pain in his gut._

_It's ripping. It's tearing. It's too much and Will can't concentrate and then Hannibal's grip on his throat loosens and he leans forward, his breath hot against his ear._

"_I'm sorry, Will… I didn't want it to come to this…"_

_He yanks the knife out. Will feels himself slipping. Falling. It's so soft. It's like his pain is ebbing away and it feels so good that Will wants to get lost in the feeling. He gets lost in Hannibal's eyes, locked on his. Glowing red and smiling down at him._

_Mocking him._

_The fucking bastard._

_He fades away to the sound of doors being kicked open and thinks for a moment that Hannibal will never forgive Jack for ruining his office doors like that. Then there's nothing and he's grateful._

"Will," Will heard Hannibal talking to him and his face scrunched up. "Will, are you alright?" The concern there sounded so real that for a moment Will let himself believe it.

"Will?"

He opened his eyes and jolted away from the glass, staring right into Hannibal's eyes like he had been in the dream.

"Jesus!" he panted, blinking several times to try and bring himself back into the present. Hannibal seemed amused, smile at him and flashing just the faintest traces of teeth. Will scrambled back and picked up the folding chair from where he'd knocked it down, sitting gingerly and rubbing his hands over his eyes.

"You seem tired, Will," Hannibal said, "have you been having nightmares?"

"That's none of your concern," Will muttered, looking up. He avoided Hannibal's eyes, lest he be sucked into another horrible memory again. He had to fight the urge to touch the spot on his stomach where the knife had pierced him. The scare pulsed and throbbed as if it knew its maker was nearby.

Will cleared his throat and leaned forward, "The Tooth Fairy…" he prompted.

"Ridiculous name, don't you think?" Hannibal asked, "Freddie Lounds is certainly becoming less creative of late."

Will scowled, "She was creative enough to write an entire article about the FBI turning to killers to find killers again."

"I saw that," Hannibal nodded, "The section on Dr. Reid was a surprise."

"Well he did kill Jake Napier," Will said, reminding him off the killer Hannibal had gotten to murder William Reid. "I assume that counts as murder. He butchered the man."

Hannibal smiled, "That he did. Spencer shows such potential… As did you, William."

Will scowled, "Potential?" his mouth twisted around the word and his eyes darted around Hannibal's cell, looking for anything to focus on. He picked a drawing of what he assumed was France and stared at it.

"You both exhibited ample aptitude in viciousness and violence. Interesting, especially when one considers how few people would assume either of you were harboring violent tendencies."

"Neither of us are," Will snapped. "Dr. Reid was attacked in his apartment. He was defending himself. And I… You were screwing around with my head for months."

"You let me,"

"I was an idiot,"

"I disagree," Hannibal said, "I was making progress. You were very close to finally accepting your true nature, Will…"

"Bullshit,"

Hannibal scowled and his features twisted. It sent a shiver down Will's spine that he fought to conceal. The last thing he needed was for Hannibal to start prodding at him again.

"You're steering me off topic," Will said, "I'm just here to talk about the case." He sighed, "Please. Just show me his face, Dr. Lecter. Put me next to him…"

Hannibal sighed a bit and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and carefully considering.

* * *

"We need to know what it says fast, Dr. Reid," Jack loomed over Reid's shoulder as he worked, chewing on his lip as he tried to piece together the message that Hannibal had sent to their killer.

"I'm working on it," Reid insisted, "I'd be able to work a lot faster if you weren't looming over me."

Jack frowned, but stepped back, glancing at Beverly and Jimmy as they anxiously watched the younger man decode the message. They had decided to let the message go out and were hoping that Lecter hadn't noticed that they'd discovered his letter.

Maybe he would communicate with him again and they'd be able to track him. It was worth a shot at least.

Reid's eyes darted between the paper where the message had been carefully copied out by Jimmy Price earlier and the thick book that was the key to the code the message had been written in. He jotted down a word every minute or so in messy, almost illegible scrawl.

After several long minutes, he stopped, glancing back down at what he'd written, and then he paled.

He jumped up without saying anything to Jack and practically ran across the room to where his satchel was, pulling his cell phone out.

By the time Jack had deciphered Reid's terrible handwriting, the young agent was already speaking frantically to Will Graham.

GRAHAM HOME IN MARATHON FLORIDA, the message read, SAVE YOURSELF. KILL HIM.

* * *

Will was, for the first time ever, truly grateful he had no family. He couldn't imagine the terror he would have felt to have anyone actually living in his home when he heard the message Hannibal had sent to the Tooth Fairy.

His heart thudded in his chest just at the thought of his dogs. He'd demanded that Jack warn his neighbors and put a patrol on the house to keep his animals safe.

He suspected Jack only agreed because of the slim chance of the Tooth Fairy going all the way to Florida to try and kill him.

He had no idea how Hannibal had gotten his address, but it turned his blood to ice in his veins just to think about it.

He was edgy the next time he visited Hannibal at his cell, pacing and refusing to sit in the hard metal chair.

"Is something bothering you, Will?" Hannibal asked.

Will's eyes shot up to his face and he scowled, "You must really hate me," he said finally. "Which, since you keep insisting that I'm so much like you, means you must really hate yourself."

"I don't follow, Will,"

Will hated the way Hannibal used his name. He took a deep breath.

"You know what I'm talking about,"

Hannibal tilted his head and smiled a bit, "Ah, you mean my little message to pilgrim. Oh, Will, I thought that's what you wanted. You asked me to show you his face. I merely obliged. I sent him to you."

"To kill me,"

"Or for you to kill him," Hannibal grinned, a truly terrifying grin if Will had ever seen one. "I would have been very eager to see the outcome of that particular showdown."

Will glared at him and Hannibal's grin faded. He leaned forward, studying Will carefully.

"I truly did not wish you harm, dear, Will,"

Will snorted and Hannibal continued as if he hadn't heard,

"You like a challenge, don't you? It's no fun if you're simply told what to do and where to go. No, Will, you enjoy the thrill of the chase. The adrenaline pumping through your veins. The uncertainty of the outcome, the danger."

Will wanted to deny it, but it struck too close to true and so he changed the subject instead.

"Fine," Will said, "then give me a challenge, Dr. Lecter. Put me next to him and let's see which one of us comes out of it alive."

* * *

"It doesn't seem right," Reid said, his voice lowered as he stared through the open hospital door at the shaken young woman staring off at nothing. Reba McClane was covered in blood and ash, her hair a horrible mess.

Reid thought it was probably better she was blind. The body they'd found in the house was utterly demolished – skull crushed in from the shot gun, skin blistered and scorched from the fire. Most of his face had been destroyed from the bullet and whatever skin and tissue that remained had been boiled and burnt into a bubbling, melted pile of disgusting.

"Which part?" Will's voice was a bit louder, more bitter as he crossed and uncrossed his arms. He hated to agree with Dr. Reid, but something still felt so incomplete about all this.

Francis Dolarhyde – the _Tooth Fairy_ – was dead, but it didn't feel like it was over. He wondered if it ever would.

"All of it," Reid frowned, "he was running. He was scared. She said he was going to kill them both and let the house burn down on top of them… But he couldn't bring himself to kill her."

"He loved her too much," Will nodded, still staring at Reba, wondering idly if she'd ever feel normal again after what had happened.

"So why did he kill himself then? He couldn't follow through on his plan… Why end it without finishing things properly?"

"He felt trapped," Will said, his voice still gravelly from the smoke he'd inhaled at the site. "He wanted to stop, but he couldn't stop himself so he ended it the only way he knew how…"

"Maybe…" Reid didn't seem convinced, but Will tried not to let the worry nag at him. It was over and Dolarhyde was dead and his life could go back to normal again. He would never again let Jack Crawford pull him back into the field that much he knew.

* * *

Will sighed in relief as he unlocked the front door of his beach front house. It was small and a bit cramped with all the dogs, but it felt like home.

He pushed the door open cautiously, expecting to be knocked down by eager dogs, starved for his attention. When he wasn't, his heart shot into his chest. He tried to stamp down the paranoia that was slowly building inside of him as he crept inside and wished desperately for his own gun. He had a revolver hidden upstairs, but that was so far away.

There wasn't a sound in the house at all. No scuffling of nails on the floor, no panting breaths or quiet whines. No gentle barks. Nothing at all. Something was definitely wrong.

He eased his way into the living room and was hit with the smell. It hung in the air, putrid and thick and made his stomach roll as he flicked on the light.

He immediately wished he hadn't. He closed and opened his eyes several times, trying to unsee what was before him. His mind reeled against it, his hands shaking, his palms sweating. He wanted to vomit, but nothing came up but a dry, choked sound as his eyes burned with tears.

His dogs – all of them – were laid out on the living room floor. Gutted. Their blood had seeped into the carpet, intestines and organs slipping out of the vicious, uneven cuts across their bellies. Their fur was thick with it – red and stained and clumping where the blood had started to congeal.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god…_

He stumbled forward, his legs giving out as he landed on his knees beside Winston. He reached out blindly, taking the dog's limp head into his lap and racking his vibrating fingers through the thick fur, choking on sobs.

He heard the floor creak behind him, but he didn't turn around. The voice that spoke had a slight lisp and his heart jolted with the revelation.

_He always kills the pets first._ Hannibal had said.

"Stand up, Gumshoe…"

* * *

"Spencer!" Hannibal smiled brightly whenever he saw the young agent. He hadn't expected that he would ever see his Spencer again. At least not of Spencer's own volition. He'd continued to write him, of course, but Spencer never replied just as Will never replied.

"I'm surprised to see you. I was under the impression that you never wanted to speak with me again."

"I didn't," he said, his voice low and strained. He pressed his lips together and took a deep breath, glancing up at Hannibal for a moment.

"I came because I didn't want you to hear the news secondhand or from one Freddie Lounds' sensationalized articles."

Hannibal raised a brow, leaning forward, "Has something happened?" he asked.

Reid's lips twisted up into a sad sort of smile, his hazel eyes shining with faint tears as he nodded.

"Something happened," he said, "Yes."

There was silence for a long moment and Hannibal frowned, "Well?"

His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he stared down at his hands for another long second. Finally, he looked up and locked eyes with Hannibal.

"Will Graham is dead," he said, his voice ringing out oddly loud in the cell block. Hannibal blinked, sucking in a sharp breath and becoming very, very still.

Reid continued talking, "Francis Dolarhyde faked his death at the house. Forensics didn't know until they tried to match dental records. By the time Jack sent a team to warn Will, it was too late.

"He cut him open with shards of the bathroom mirror," Reid's voice was choked, "Gouged his eyes out too. ME says it's inconclusive whether or not Will was alive when that happened."

Hannibal had gone very white, his lips pressing together in a thin line. He said nothing as Spencer stood and stared at him.

"You did that," he said. "You gave Dolarhyde his address and practically gift-wrapped Will for him. I hope you're happy. …At least in the end it was someone other than you who killed him."

Hannibal still said nothing and Spencer didn't seem to expect a reply. He said goodbye, though Hannibal hardly heard him at all, and his footsteps echoed down the hall as he left. It was several minutes before Hannibal moved, shifting from where he stood and moving to his small writing desk.

He sat down, pulled up a fresh sheet of paper and selected a pencil, the very faintest traces of tears in his eyes as he began to draw.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm going to Hell.

But, uh... *clears throat* Anyway. To clear up any potential confusion, I didn't name Reid's attack from "Breakdown", but Jack Napier is him. If you know where I stole that name from you get my undying love and e-cookies because you're clearly awesome.

The next part will be fairly calm, but after that we are descending into the Stygian pits of Hell and we won't be surfacing anytime soon.

Please don't forget to review!

Also, if you want your mind put to ease a bit... ***SPOILERS FOR THE REST OF THE STORY* **I didn't see Will die. Did you guys see Will die? No? That's what I thought. *nods seriously* Keep that in mind.


	13. Part 12: Consequences

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews, you guys are fantabulous! I appreciate your input and thoughts.

Now, as I said, this part is a bit on the calmer side, but don't get used to it. This is basically the calm before the storm kind of deal. On the up-side, we finally meet Clarice Starling, who was a challenge for me to write, but who was also fun to play with. She'll have a bigger role later. Also, Maeve Donovan! Who I adored and whose death nearly killed me.

Anyway. Not much to warn for in this part. Hannibal being Hannibal, nothing much you haven't seen. Mind games, manipulation, lies, murder. The usual stuff.

* * *

**Part 12: Consequences**

* * *

Reid watched Maeve smile and felt just a little bit saner for it. Her home was small and neat and clean and she smelled like jasmine and lavender. She wore soft purples and pinks that went very well with the gentle palette of her office.

"The MRI was clean," she said, "but we're not going to give up, Spencer," she assured him, "Whatever's causing your headaches, we'll figure it out." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "It probably wouldn't hurt to speak to a psychiatrist though. Just to clear everything on that end. Some symptoms can be caused by psychological strain and you've been under a lot of that lately."

He fidgeted and nodded. "I can talk to one of the bureau's doctors sometime next week." He didn't want to; he was adamantly against this being anything other than some physical problem. His gut twisted just thinking about talking to a psychiatrist, but Maeve was probably right. It would be smart to make sure.

"And you are taking the medication and documenting the headaches?"

"Of course." He pulled out a small notebook; the pages marred with his small, barely readable handwriting, and passed it over to her. She flipped it open and squinted down at it, her lips quirking just a bit.

"I thought it was medical doctors who had bad handwriting," she said lightly.

He blushed a bit. "My handwriting's never been great," he admitted.

"I'm just kidding, Spencer," she said, looking back down at the notebook. "At least it looks like your headaches have been less painful since you started taking the medication. I really think they're being caused by a combination of physical triggers and psychological strain."

He nodded and fought not to fidget again as she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling at his awkwardness. She took a breath, then hesitated for a second before steeling her nerves.

"It's a bit unprofessional, but… would you like to go out for coffee with me some time, Spencer? There's a great shop a few blocks away."

"I…" his mind was working frantically, trying to read the physical cues and gauge the situation. He wasn't exactly the best at understanding women or social interaction. "Um, to be clear, you are asking me on a date, right?"

Her laugh was nearly as awkward as his own as she nodded. "I was. Unless of course you would rather it not be…" her eyes were searching as they met his and he blushed but shook his head.

"No," his said a bit too quickly, his fingers twisting in his lap, "No, that's… I'd love to. Absolutely."

* * *

The date was going well, or as well as a date between one extremely awkward genius and one slightly nervous genius could go. At least until Reid's cell phone started buzzing. He had half a mind to ignore it, but Maeve assured him it was alright and she understood he had a busy job – though as a doctor she still recommended he work fewer hours. She was convinced his job was partly to blame for his headaches.

"Dr. Reid," he answered quickly once he realized he didn't recognize the number.

"Doctor, I'm sorry for calling you when you're off duty, but I was anxious to talk to you. My name's Clarice Starling. I'm in training at the Academy…"

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Reid, though even he couldn't remember where he'd heard it. Probably in passing from a comment by Morgan about the cadets. He rarely paid those comments much attention.

"That's alright," he said. "Is there something you need help with?" It wouldn't be the first time a cadet had reached out for his help. Generally, they went to people like Rossi - seasoned agents who were practically legends in the FBI – but sometimes they'd hear about his eidetic memory and his impressive degrees and go to him as well.

"This might be asking a lot, but I was told that you were one of the few agents Dr. Lecter ever spoke with openly and I was wondering if you might have any insight on him. Agent Crawford asked me to –"

"Stop," Reid cut her off, his entire body going rigid at Hannibal's name. She stopped abruptly, her accented voice trailing off over the speakers. "I'm sorry, Clarice, but I don't want to talk about Hannibal Lecter with anyone. If you're looking to do a study on a serial killer, you're better off picking one who's already dead."

"It's not for a paper, Dr. Reid," Clarice was quick to speak. "It's for Agent Crawford. He asked me to speak with Dr. Lecter, to try and get him to open up. Ever since Investigator Graham's death, Lecter hasn't even been responding to letters and he's usually very good about that. The only person he still writes is you. I just don't want to go in there blind and I thought you might be able to give me some tips."

"Tips?" Reid scoffed and took a shaky breath. "If you're asking for my advice, Clarice, the only thing I can tell you is not to go at all. Dr. Lecter isn't the usual psychopath. There is no way to be safe around him."

"I can't do that," Clarice sounded frustrated. "I'm doing this, Dr. Reid. I've already spoken with the Chief of Staff and I'm arriving there tomorrow afternoon."

Reid sighed. "Then I sincerely hope he doesn't talk to you, Clarice. Because if he does, you're in trouble."

* * *

Reid knocked impatiently on Jack Crawford's office door. Peering in through the slightly opened door he spotted Jack hunched over at his desk, frowning over a tablet in his hands. He glanced up at the taps on the door and blinked, standing slightly.

"Dr. Reid, come in," he waved him in, setting the tablet aside and shifting in his chair. "Can I help you with something?"

Reid slid into the office, careful to shut the door behind him. "I want to talk to you about Clarice Starling,"

Jack froze, his eyes narrowing. "She's a promising cadet. Smart girl, a lot of gumption. What about her?"

Reid scowled. "Do you even remember what happened to last trainee you sent after Lecter, Jack? Miriam Lass is dead and we still don't have her entire body."

"Lecter's in a cage, Doctor," Jack was insistent. "Clarice wants to get a feel for this and she's got the spirit to take him on. I don't see the harm in it."

"He was in a cage when he sent Jack Napier after my father," Reid snapped. "He was in a cage when he sent Dolarhyde after Will Graham. This is reckless and stupid."

"And not your call," Jack cut him off. "Starling wants to work in the BAU for my team; I'll test her however I see fit. She'll be fine."

"That's exactly what you said about Miriam and Will,"

"You're pushing it, Dr. Reid," Jack warned, scowling at the younger man. "I've got work to do here. I think this conversation is over."

Reid sighed and stood, glancing down at the files and the tablet sitting on his desk. The screen was still showing what Jack had been looking at – crime scene photos from his team's recent case. The name stuck in Reid's mind: Buffalo Bill. Stupid name. He frowned.

"You aren't trying to get Lecter involved on another case, are you?" his eyes widened when Jack simply glared at him. "Do you even care about what happened the last time?"

"My case, Doctor," Jack snapped. "My call."

Reid left the office fuming, trying to think of some way to salvage this situation before things got out of control. He barely even noticed the beginning hints at another headache.

* * *

"Spencer! This is a surprise," Hannibal's grin was animalistic as he sat back from his perch in the farthest corner of his cell. He clasped his hands across his front and watched the younger man pace anxiously.

Hannibal looked worse than he had the last time Spencer had seen him. He was thinner, his cheeks hollow and his skin ragged looking. Idly, Spencer wondered if it was all a result of hearing about Will's death or if the conditions in the hospital were worsening. He made up his mind to speak with Chilton about that.

"What's on your mind, Spencer?" Hannibal asked, eyeing the cagy agent. "You seem frustrated."

"I am," he said, pausing for a moment and then coming to a stop directly in front of Lecter's cage.

"Why did you lead Starling to that old storage building?"

Hannibal paused, his smile turning into a smirk. "Are you jealous, Spencer?"

Spencer scowled. "Dr. Lecter just answer the question,"

Hannibal thought about that. "My, you're in a mood aren't you? You're not usually rude,"

Spencer huffed and his fists clenched. "Please," he had to force the word out from between tightly ground teeth, "tell me why you gave Agent Starling the address to that storage shed."

Hannibal nodded. "Better," he said. "It was a test, Spencer. She seemed like a smart girl, but she's very young, isn't she? Have you met her?"

"Not in person," he said. "We spoke on the phone."

"Ah," Hannibal nodded. "I wondered. She told me you warned her not to come here. Why would you do that?"

"Because I know what kind of monster you are,"

Hannibal's eyes widened. "I'm a monster now, Spencer? I don't recall that being your diagnosis."

"That was before you had my father killed,"

"I suppose I can see how that would change your opinion," Hannibal conceded. "though I still don't understand the concern for Agent Starling. From what I've seen, she is quite capable of taking care of herself. She only wants to prove herself and I'm simply giving her the opportunity to do so."

"Don't," Reid snapped, then sucked in a sharp breath at Hannibal's warning look. "Just leave her alone, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal smiled. "Now why would I do that? If Jack is so desperate for my help that he'd resort to dangling such a beautiful young thing in front of me, he'll simply have the face the consequences once more."

Reid closed his eyes tightly. "Then punish Jack, not her,"

Hannibal's eyes sparkled. "That's precisely what I'm doing, Spencer."

* * *

"Agent Starling!" Reid managed to catch the young woman before she could reach Crawford's office and she turned around, eyes wide. Her brow furrowed in confusion until she placed his voice.

"Dr. Reid?" she said it like a question and he nodded. Her accent wasn't as thick in person as it was over the phone.

"Can I speak with you for a second?" he asked carefully.

She motioned toward Jack's door. "I'm supposed to be meeting with Agent Crawford -"

"It won't take long," Reid assured her. She hesitated, but nodded and followed him to the empty break room.

"This is about Dr. Lecter again, isn't it?" she asked.

He nodded. "I know you've already heard the stories about him," he said, "but hearing stories and experiencing it are two different things. You really shouldn't be talking with him."

"I appreciate the warning, Doctor," Clarice said, "but I can take care of myself. I've read the case files and incident reports. I know all about you and Will Graham. I'm not going to let myself get too close."

Reid smiled a bit and shook his head. "That's exact what I said, Agent Starling," he told her. "It's never that easy when it comes to Dr. Lecter. He'll pull you in whether you like it or not and before you realize it, he's inside your head."

"I'll keep that in mind,"

"Don't just keep it in mind," Reid said. "Just don't go back to Baltimore."

"If there's even a chance that he can help us find this missing girl alive, I've got to," Clarice was adamant. "Saving lives is what we're supposed to do, Dr. Reid."

"At what cost?" Reid's voice was strangled a bit and he shook his head. "You can catch this guy without Lecter's help."

"In time to save this girl?"

Reid's shoulders slumped and he sighed, shaking his head. "Most likely not,"

"That's what I thought,"

* * *

"They're moving him from maximum security!?" Reid's voice was too high pitched, too loud. He stared at Jack with wide eyes. Hotch was sitting next to him and started to say something, but Reid wasn't finished.

"Are you insane?"

"We don't have a choice," Jack sounded defeated and weary, but angry at the same time.

"You would if you hadn't made Agent Starling _lie to him_," Reid snapped. "I told you involving him was a bad idea."

"He'll be under constant guard," Jack said. "We're taking every precaution we can possibly take while we move him."

"That's comforting," Reid's tone was flippant and Jack had come to realize over time that when the younger man felt cornered and angry, he didn't bother censoring anything he said. "The last time they took Lecter out of his cell without restraints he ripped a woman's tongue out of her mouth. She nearly lost an eye!"

"That won't happen again," Jack assured him. "He'll always be in restraints. Chilton and I are going to oversee the entire move."

"So he won't escape because you're there, Jack? Is that what you're saying?"

"Reid," Hotch's tone was warning and the young man sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. His head was throbbing painfully and it was hard to concentrate.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but this is a very bad idea."

"I agree," Jack nodded, some of the anger leaving his eyes, "but like I said, we don't really have a choice in this anymore."

* * *

"Spencer," Maeve's voice was gentle as she reached across the small table and placed a hand over his. "Spencer, are you alright?"

He blinked and rubbed his temple with his free hand, nodding. "I'm sorry, it's just -"

"Another headache?"

He nodded and closed his eyes, his lips pressing together tightly. "This thing with Dr. Lecter has me on edge. I don't like it."

She nodded. "I'm beginning to see a common denominator in your headaches," she said, "Any time you're involved in anything with Dr. Lecter they get worse."

He blinked and frowned, meeting her eyes for a moment. "Are you suggesting he's causing them?"

Maeve shook her head. "Just that he's augmenting the pain," she said. "The stress is making your headaches more intense. It'd be better if you tried to avoid him or any cases involving him."

He pressed his fingers against his eyes, nodding, "I think you're right," he said slowly, "but I don't want to leave this one alone. I feel like I should at least be trying to help make sure things don't go wrong."

"That's a lot of pressure to put on yourself," she noted.

He sighed. "It is," he admitted. "You're right. I won't even mention him again tonight."

She smiled and squeezed his fingers gently. "That's better. I wanted to talk to you about the recent tests I ran…"

* * *

"Are those Dr. Lecter's?" Reid caught Clarice again in the elevator as he was leaving a few days later. Hannibal had already been moved out of Baltimore and they were preparing to move him to the new facility, but he was currently being kept under constant guard until they could finalize everything.

Clarice glanced down at the folded drawings under her arm and nodded. "Dr. Chilton removed them from his cell after what he did to Miggs… I thought he might like them back before they finish his transfer."

Reid nodded. "You think he knows something else,"

She smiled a bit. "I think he's got more to tell, yes," she said.

He eyed the drawings more carefully. "So you're bringing him a peace offering."

"I'm pretty sure he won't appreciate that I lied to him," she said, "even under Jack's orders."

"You're right, he won't," Reid said, "and he'll make it hard for you even after you return the drawings."

"You aren't going to tell me to be careful, Dr. Reid?" she sounded half curious as she studied him. He shrugged and shook his head.

"You've already made up your mind. I think you're smart enough not to do something stupid."

"I think that was a compliment…"

He smiled a bit. "Just pay attention to everything he says. He plays mind games, but he'll give you whatever you need to find this guy if he really does like you and I think he does."

She nodded. "Thank you,"

"Don't thank me," Reid said, "not until you've actually saved this girl."

* * *

"HE ESCAPED!" Reid's breathing was too fast, his eyes wide. He wasn't the only one in a panic this time though. Jack was practically hyperventilating with his fury. "You let him escape!"

"I didn't let him do anything, Dr. Reid!" Jack snapped. He was already angry enough and he did not need the younger man to remind him of how royally fucked they all were at the moment.

"He was restrained and in a cage when we left him. There were half a dozen capable officers there and - "

"And he used a pen to escape because _no one bothered to search him before he left Baltimore!_"

"We'll find him," Jack said. "He can't hide forever."

"I don't think we're talking about the same person, Agent Crawford,"

* * *

Reid's smile was tight as he shook Clarice's hand after the ceremony. He spotted Jack standing in the back, eyeing the two of them. Probably waiting until Reid was gone to congratulate Clarice on her graduation.

"You certainly earned that badge," he told her.

She smiled softly. "It's a little bittersweet though, isn't it? With Lecter escaping and everything."

"They'll find him," Reid sounded confident, but he wasn't. He knew Hannibal. He would not be easy to find. "At least you saved that girl."

She nodded. "I did," she said, "…with his help."

She sounded sad and Reid couldn't tell exactly why. One of her friends from the Academy waved her over and he let her go, trying not to think too hard about Hannibal Lecter.

* * *

He found the envelope on his table when he got home, slipped carefully underneath a leather bound copy of Plato's _Republic. _His hands shook as he reached for the envelope, not bothering to be careful about fingerprints. He knew exactly who had left it.

He tore it open and pulled the neatly folded paper out, wincing at the familiar handwriting.

_I hope you appreciate the gift, Spencer. It's been far too long since we've had a proper conversation. I'd like to rectify that as soon as possible._

_Don't bother trying to get your gun. It's already too late._

He blinked and frowned, his hand already going toward the gun still at his hip when a strong, powerful arm wrapped around his neck and he felt a sharp sting in the side of his throat.

A familiar, gentle voice crooned in his ear before the blackness over took him.

"Shh, it's alright. Just relax, Spencer. I'm not going to hurt you…"

* * *

**A/N: **_Dun dun dun._

Ahem. Anyway. Some minor notes: I went a bit AU with Maeve's canon backstory. No stalker. I have other plans and that particular story line would've gotten in the way of my plot. Sorry-not-sorry.

So. Brace yourselves guys. Next up is the part thirteen and lemme just tell you all right now... it's a doozy. Lots of gore, manipulation, torture, some very dubious consent and all the fucked up relationships that you could possibly ever want. It's also ridiculously lengthy. It's nearly 90,000 words of messy, unrelenting, fucked up murderous... fun.


	14. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter One

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks as usual for the reviews :) You guys are fantastic and I adore you! Glad you're all so eager for this fucked up story to kick into high gear, heh.

So, from this point forward all the warnings apply. I'll try to give specific warnings for anything that may be triggering, but this is going to be a real mine field from here on out so tread carefully-assume every warning applies.

Now, part thirteen is titled "Blinding" for the Florence + the Machine song which I think fits rather nicely. It's a loooong part, roughly 90,000 words, and I've broken it into 24 chapters with an epilogue that wraps everything up. This will take a while.

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter One**

* * *

Spencer woke slowly, his head dully throbbing in the background of his mind. His body felt heavy and weighed down and his thoughts were sluggish and hard to hold on to.

_a faint sound, metal scraping metal_

_a sizzle_

_someone breathing_

_or was that him?_

_a mechanical hiss_

_a low, accented curse_

_a gentle hum_

_warm hands on his face, tilting his head back_

He slowly cracked his eyes open and immediately wished he hadn't. Trying to put distance between himself and Hannibal's red, hungry eyes, Spencer jerked back and found - to his horror - he was bound tightly to a wooden chair.

"I'm glad you're awake," Hannibal said, moving his hands away and standing to give Spencer some much needed space. "I was beginning to worry that the sedative I gave you was more powerful than I'd assumed."

For some reason, those words made Spencer snort and he grimaced, trying to loosen his stiff muscles.

"I have a hard time imagining you making a mistake like that," he said, frowning.

"What did you drug me with?"

Hannibal smiled a bit fondly, "Don't worry, Spencer, it wasn't a narcotic."

Spencer relaxed a bit, but his body was still tense and he was acutely aware of exactly how low his chances of surviving this encounter were. He tried to do something, anything, useful.

He was in a kitchen. It wasn't his own and he didn't recognize it. It was large; cool colors and modern design. Someone's home then. Spencer's gut twisted.

"Where are we?" he was almost afraid to ask, wondering if Hannibal had already killed whoever lived there or if they were lucky enough to have not been home when Hannibal chose the house. Maybe this was one of Hannibal's insane admirers' homes. It wasn't comforting, but maybe that meant no one was dead.

"An old friend's home," Hannibal answered absently. The way he said "friend" left Reid with little doubt that Hannibal had killed, or was planning to kill, whoever lived there.

Silence reigned for several minutes and Spencer realized that the sizzling noise he'd heard earlier was Hannibal cooking something. He fought to push the bile back down; he was sure Hannibal wouldn't appreciate that.

Finally, Reid decided that he wasn't going to get anywhere if he simply sat there and let this happen to him. He cleared his throat and watched Hannibal working deftly over the stove, his movements fluid and somehow graceful.

"Are you going to kill me?" his voice was soft, his eyes never leaving Hannibal as the older man froze, shoulders going taut beneath a suit that hung just a bit too loosely on his unusually thin frame.

After a moment, Hannibal resumed his movements, not bothering to turn around as he answered.

"I haven't decided,"

Reid frowned and swallowed his fear. This wasn't really all that different from the many conversations he'd had with Hannibal for more than two years. Except that Hannibal wasn't safely behind a glass wall and he was tied to a chair...

Okay, it was _very_ different. But it felt remarkably similar.

"Would you mind letting me know when you make your decision?"

Hannibal smiled, still not turning around. "I imagine you'll be able to discern for yourself what my choice is when the time comes."

"Most likely," Reid agreed, "but I would still appreciate a little warning beforehand. It seems _rude_ to keep me in suspense."

"But that is the whole point, Spencer,"

* * *

"It has been quite a while since we have had a civilized conversation," Hannibal noted as he arranged Spencer's chair in the adjoining dining room. His fingers brushed over the young agent's tight shoulders and he smiled, digging his hands into the flesh and kneading it for a moment.

Spencer leaned into the touch briefly, before realization of what he was doing seemed to dawn on him and he immediately tensed up again. In spite of the lingering effects of the sedative he had given the younger man, Hannibal was delighted to note that Spencer's face was still a veritable billboard of his emotions: twisting and turning and scrunching up and paling and reddening with each little change in his feelings. It was _delicious_.

"And you think that kidnapping me and tying me to a chair in someone else's home is going to change that?"

"Precisely," Hannibal nodded. "Perhaps even more so than you would believe. Before, we were both quite limited in what either of us could say. Here, I may prod as deeply as I desire."

Spencer fought not to show the shiver that ran down his spine and Hannibal decided not to mention it. It was an attempt at bravery, however poorly executed it had been.

"What reason would I have for talking to you if you're going to kill me anyway?"

"Prolonging your life, for one," Hannibal said as he began to set the table, his hands moving swiftly over expensive looking plates and silverware. He was extremely comfortable amongst all the wealth that surrounded him and if he hadn't known better, Reid might have thought this was Hannibal's home.

"It's polite for another," Hannibal continued, "and also because yours is not the only FBI agent's apartment that I am capable of breaking into. I seem to recall that your _friend_ Agent Morgan was quite rude to me when we met..."

He let the threat hang in the air, reveling in the way Spencer's pulse jumped in his throat and his knuckles whitened around the arms of the chair he was currently bound to.

"Don't," his voice cracked, his eyes wide with the plea. Hannibal smiled.

"I won't take the unnecessary risk of harming Derek Morgan as long as you can behave yourself, Spencer."

He nodded jerkily, "Okay," he said, "I'll talk about whatever you want." _At least until I can find a way out of this..._

"As I thought," he said.

The conversation lulled and Spencer got the uncomfortable impression that Hannibal wanted _him_ to speak first. He pressed his lips together and eyed the dinner table.

"I still haven't figured it out," he said slowly.

Hannibal raised a brow, "Figured what out?"

"Why you do it," he said, "Kill people, I mean. You don't get any sexual arousal from it. It has to be more than just eating them."

"Can you not imagine the appeal, the allure of taking a life, Spencer? To hold another's life in your hands and make the decision to end it?"

"No," Reid said flatly. "I can't."

Hannibal frowned, meeting Spencer's eyes across the table. "I do not appreciate being lied to," he said, "You are in a judgment free environment right now, Spencer. You have no need to be dishonest."

He allowed himself an amused smile when Spencer scowled at him.

"You sound like a psychiatrist,"

"I am a psychiatrist,"

"_Were_," Reid corrected him. "And I am not one of your patients."

"Despite the so-called criminal acts I committed, my degrees are still valid and my license was not revoked. I still have the privilege of the title 'Doctor'."

"I'm still not one of your patients," Reid reminded him.

"Perhaps not, but you are avoiding the question."

Reid frowned and shook his head again, "I have never seen the appeal of playing God."

Hannibal tsked, "You are lying. How many lives have you taken, Spencer?"

He watched ravenously as the younger man grimaced at the question, his mind going back in time.

"Three,"

The word was a bit mangled and Spencer didn't meet Hannibal's eyes, instead staring down at his knees with his lips pressed tightly together. Hannibal had to stamp down the sudden urge to lean over and taste those lips. This was not the right time. They hadn't even eaten dinner yet.

"Who were they?" Hannibal pressed, "How did you kill them?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment, but took a deep breath and answered,

"The first - the first was a man named Philip Dowd. He was an LDSK. He took me, another agent a several civilians hostage. I shot him between the eyes."

"Your first kill often stands out," Hannibal said.

"Does yours?"

He smiled, "Very much so," he said. "Tell me, when you shot Philip Dowd how did you feel?"

"You aren't being very subtle with your therapist talk," Reid muttered at him.

"I wasn't aware I needed to be," Hannibal said.

Reid sighed and looked down. He was fairly sure that Hannibal would be able to tell if he was lying or not, but he really didn't way to have any part of this discussion.

"At first... I just felt... I don't know... On edge. I don't know what I felt. It happened too fast. I - I knew I should have felt _something_ but..."

"Your heart was racing," Hannibal said, "Adrenaline pumped through your veins. You didn't sleep that night, did you?"

"...No,"

"It exhilarated you; it excited you,"

"No!" Spencer was quick to object, looking up to stare at Hannibal.

Hannibal raised a brow, smirking at him.

"What about the second person you killed? Who was he?"

"It didn't excite me to shoot Philip Dowd," Reid said through gritted teeth.

"Of course it did," Hannibal said casually, "And why shouldn't it? You held the power of life and death in your hands and you acted on it. Why shouldn't that feel empowering? Exciting?"

Reid glared at him and shook his head. He looked very much like a petulant child and Hannibal found that very amusing. He smiled and walked around until he was standing behind the young agent. He placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed slightly, bending down so that his breath wafted over Spencer's ear.

"Your second kill, Spencer," he prompted.

He watched as Spencer swallowed convulsively, his eyes clenching shut tight.

His voice shook when he finally spoke, "His name was Tobias Hankel..."

He trailed off and Hannibal stood, moving around the table and taking a seat across from him.

"And?"

"And I shot him in the head,"

Hannibal frowned, "What did Tobias Hankel do to deserve being shot in the head?"

Reid choked, shaking his head.

"Spencer?"

"_Tobias_ didn't do anything," he managed to say.

Hannibal raised a brow, leaning forward like a predator waiting to pounce.

"Why did you kill him, Spencer?"

"I don't want to talk about this,"

"I am aware of that," Hannibal said, "but I want you to."

Reid took a shaky breath and his eyes were glistening when he looked up and met Hannibal's hungry gaze.

"Tobias was sick," he said, "mentally. He had - he had dissociative identity disorder."

Hannibal's nearly impeccable control almost shattered when Spencer bit down on his lower lip hard enough to have blood pool beneath the thin skin. He wondered of the young agent had any idea what he was doing.

"And?"

"His mind had split into three personalities... Himself, his fanatically religious, abusive father and the archangel Raphael."

"He was killing people?"

Spencer's nod was shaky.

"He thought he was doing God's work. He - he killed people he thought deserved punishing. He recorded the murders and posted the videos online."

"Don't stop, Spencer, this is very fascinating,"

Reid wanted to stab Hannibal. If his hands were free he might've been able to get to the knife that was on the counter in the kitchen. He tugged at the thick cables that held him in place, but they didn't give.

"Spencer," Hannibal's voice was a warning. His lips were pulled into a thin, impatient line.

"J - Another agent and I went to question him. It was supposed to be a routine interview, but he was suspicious and refused to talk to us. I moved around the side of the house and I could see a set of computer monitors playing the murders. He - he saw me through the window and ran."

He trailed off again and looked down, his breaths shuddering and painful.

"We chased him out to his barn and split up. It was dark. We didn't have any cell reception... I heard something moving in the corn field and I went in after it..."

"And?"

"And he came up behind him, knocked me down and hit me with my own gun. I woke up in an old shed. I was there almost three days. My team found me and I shot him in the head."

Hannibal leaned back a bit, studying the anxious young doctor carefully.

"What did he do to you while he had you captive?"

"He - I can't... I don't want to talk about it,"

"Spencer," Hannibal warned, his voice a low growl.

"Raphael... he wanted me to confess my sins. He thought I was some kind of devil. Charles beat me. He wanted to kill me, but Tobias didn't want him to... Except for Tobias, they blurred together. I don't remember everything. I - he made me chose his next victim and he made me watch the live feed of him killing a couple in their home..."

"What did Tobias do?"

He bit his lip again, looking pained.

"He tried to help me,"

"How?"

Spencer inhaled sharply. "He wanted to make the pain go away so he - he drugged me with narcotic pain killers."

Understanding lit in Hannibal's eyes. "Which resulted in your addiction,"

He nodded jerkily.

"I started to overdose... I had a seizure and I... I was clinically dead. Tobias gave me CPR. He saved my life."

He hesitated and his eyes closed again, moving rapidly beneath the lids. Hannibal wondered if he was seeing everything that had happened in the small shack.

"His dad eventually decided to kill me. I'd managed to get a message to my team, but I was running out of time and Charles led me outside... He wanted me to dig my own grave. I was weak from the drugs and the beatings and he got impatient and pulled me out of the grave to do it himself. He noticed lights behind him and while he was distracted I grabbed the gun and I shot him.

"I looked into his eyes when he died. He asked me if he would get to see his mother again..."

"That must have been very traumatic,"

Reid recognized the patronizing tone and frowned, shaking his head.

"I didn't feel anything but relief when he died. Later... Later I felt bad. For Tobias. But I never really felt guilty about what I did."

"Why should you? You merely took advantage of the situation to save yourself."

"Would you say the same thing if I shot you to escape?"

Hannibal smiled, "There are no guns here,"

"Then what if I stabbed you?"

"Like you stabbed Jack Napier?"

He tensed and looked away again. "I didn't mean to do that,"

"Of course not," Hannibal nodded slowly, "but you did. I wasn't able to see crime scene photos, but I heard he was quite bloody."

Spencer folded his lips together, "I wasn't - I didn't think. I just had the knife and I ... _stopped_ him."

"You certainly did."

Spencer started to say something, but Hannibal suddenly held up a hand, cutting him off. He stood slowly and moved around to Spencer again, this time carrying a cloth napkin with him.

He pried his beautiful lips apart and pushed the cloth inside, silencing him. Hannibal allowed himself a brief moment of indulgence, running his fingers through the soft brown curls and down the side of his face, smiling when Spencer tried futilely to pull away.

"Shh, Spencer, our guest has arrived,"

Reid watched him move through the dining room, listening to the near silent sound of his footfalls until they were gone altogether. He tugged harshly at his bonds, breaking skin around his wrists but not managing pull free.

He heard a door open and close, then heavy footsteps across a wooden floor. He tried to call out, to warn whoever they were, but the gag made that almost impossible.

The footsteps came closer, then suddenly stopped. Reid strained his ears, trying to hear more of what was happening.

After a moment, he heard Hannibal's gentle voice.

"Good evening, Dr. Chilton. Would you mind joining me for dinner?"

* * *

**A/N: **More fun stuff on the way in chapter two. Expect things to get steadily worse. I had way too much fun with this guys.


	15. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Two

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks as always for your lovely reviews, guys :) Glad you're enjoying the story.

As I said, warnings apply from here on out. This chapter specifically has some gore, violence, graphic murder and cannibalism. I'm leaning toward raising the rating to "M" for this chapter, but the more unpleasant things don't really happen until a bit later...

Also, I'm considering changing my update schedule. Instead of updating once a week on Mondays, how would you guys like two chapters a week, on Mondays and Fridays? Let me know.

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

"I believe you've already met Dr. Chilton," Hannibal said as he entered the dining room.

Chilton was in front of him, his eyes wide and panicked as they roved over the room. He was pale and Hannibal could smell the sweat and fear wafting off of him. He smiled a shark-like grin and leaned forward, the hand at Chilton's shoulder tightening as he inhaled sharply.

"Dr. Reid!" Chilton spoke without thinking when he saw the younger man sitting tied up at his table.

Reid tried to speak, but the cloth in his mouth prevented him. He whined a bit through the gag, trying to tell Hannibal to leave the doctor alive. He knew it was futile; Hannibal despised Chilton and had probably thought of many ways to kill him over the years. He had to try though.

"You'll have to forgive me, Doctor," Hannibal said as he pushed Chilton down into a chair and deftly tied his hands behind his back, tugging the cords tightly. "I was having a rather fascinating conversation with Dr. Reid and forgot myself. Things are not quite ready yet." He returned to the kitchen and a moment later Reid and Chilton could hear the faint sounds of music drifting in through the open archway.

Chilton was shaking, his entire body trembling as he called out to Hannibal. "Y-You aren't going to kill me, are you, Hannibal? We were - we were friends, once. And - and I was your doctor. I tried to _help_ you!"

Reid grunted and shook his head, trying to get Chilton to shut up. The psychiatrist didn't seem to care, bent on begging for his life if he had to. Reid kept shaking his head; Hannibal wouldn't care if he begged. In fact, he'd probably be annoyed by it.

Hannibal's smooth accent floated into the dining room, "Of course I'm going to kill you. You're a poor excuse for a psychiatrist and an even poorer excuse of a human being."

Chilton swallowed convulsively, licking his lips several times and leaving behind a shiny sheen of spit on his mouth. "I - I could still be useful to you," his voice cracked. He sounded nothing like the slightly unethical, smug doctor that Spencer knew.

Hannibal didn't even respond to that, humming along with the music as he prepared things in the kitchen.

Chilton swallowed again. "I know things you would be interested in," he said, "things you don't know..."

Reid's heart thudded to a stop in his chest and he began shaking his head frantically at Chilton. He could see a desperate light in Chilton's eyes. He wasn't sure exactly what Chilton was going to say, but he could guess and it was a really bad idea.

Chilton ignored him.

"The FBI has lied to you more than once, you know..."

That seemed to get Hannibal's attention. He appeared in the entrance, his sleeves carefully rolled up to reveal powerful looking arms.

"What exactly have they lied about?" his voice was carefully controlled, just hinting at frustration and anger. He didn't even look at Spencer and Reid's heart was aching against his ribs.

Chilton flinched a bit and looked down to avoid actually meeting Hannibal's gaze. Reid wondered how this man had ever been a psychiatrist for violent patients. He suppose them being behind bars probably helped.

"A lot more than just that fake deal Crawford had Starling make,"

Hannibal raised a brow and glanced over at Spencer briefly.

"Specifically, Doctor?"

Seizing his one, tiny chance at maybe getting into Hannibal Lecter's good graces, Chilton started to babble. "Will Graham," he said the name in a rush and Hannibal's pupils dilated just a bit. "Dr. Reid told you that he'd been killed by Francis Dolarhyde, but he survived..."

Hannibal turned to stare at Spencer and he shifted awkwardly beneath the hard gaze.

"Is that true, Spencer?"

Reid started to shake his head, but Hannibal's eyes narrowed and he very pointedly looked down at the knife he was holding in his hands. Slowly, against his better judgment, Reid nodded.

For a long moment Hannibal didn't move at all, simply standing there and staring at Spencer. The young man trembled beneath his gaze, his hazel eyes looking anywhere but at Hannibal himself. Finally, Hannibal sat the knife down in the middle of the table, well out of Chilton or Spencer's reach, and moved with astonishing swiftness to Spencer's side.

He bent and yanked the cloth from Spencer's mouth, feeling a thrill of lust when he licked his reddened lips and gasped loudly for air.

"Explain," Hannibal said, straightening and frowning down at him. "What precisely motivated you to lie to me about Will's death?"

"It was Will's idea..." he said slowly. "Dolarhyde... He almost did kill him. He was in the hospital for months. He told Jack he wasn't going to do it anymore and that he wanted to get away from it all for good... He knew as long as you were alive that wasn't going to happen so he suggested faking it. Jack insisted that I tell you because... Because -"

"Because I trusted you," Hannibal said.

If it were possible for a psychopath to sound hurt, Hannibal did. Reid remembered the spark of emotion in his eyes the day he had told him Will was dead. Maybe it wasn't so far-fetched to think he really had been upset.

"I'm sorry," Reid said, surprised to realize that he meant it. "I didn't -"

"You lied to me,"

Hannibal's voice was dark and his eyes were hooded. Reid imagined them glowing dangerously and looked away. The tension was thick, looming over the three men for several long moments.

"I will deal with you later," Hannibal spoke, his voice as casual and calm as ever. He went back to the center of the table and picked up the knife, examining it closely. "Thank you for being so forthcoming, Doctor," he turned to Chilton, who slumped a bit in his chair and eyed Hannibal hopefully.

"Does that mean you aren't going to kill me?"

Hannibal's eyes were void of all emotion. "No," he said, "it simply means you were more useful than I had expected you to be."

Hannibal moved with the grace of a hunting cat, his gaze focused entirely on his quivering prey. A dark, hungry light made his red eyes shine brightly under the yellow lighting. He barely made a sound at all as he crossed the short distance and put himself behind Chilton's chair, his free hand resting casually against the wooden surface.

"You are a bully and a liar, Frederick," he said, "And you lead a pathetic, sniveling excuse of a life. I'm only sorry that I don't have quite the time to make this the death you deserve."

With shocking speed, he tugged Chilton's head back viciously and swiped the knife across his throat. Reid barely had time to call out a frantic "Don't!" before Chilton let out a gurgled scream and blood shot everywhere.

The bright red spurted widely and freely from the wound, some of it managing to land on Reid where he sat, helpless and shaking.

Blood dribbled down the gash and coated Chilton's front, seeping into the suit jacket and shirt and spreading across the expensive fabric at an alarming rate. Where it had landed on the table and light it practically glittered, shining and vibrant under the glow.

Chilton's chest heaved and it took him nearly a full five minutes to bleed out completely. He gurgled and gasped, eyes roving in their sockets as he silently begged for help.

Hannibal simply stood there, watching his victim impassively. He wiped a few stray drops of blood from his arms and sat the knife down, studying Chilton more carefully as he died.

As his eyes rolled, Hannibal caught a peak of the flat dark color and frowned, tipping his head back. Using only his fingers, Hannibal dug into the eye sockets, eliciting a whimpering gasp from Chilton, and ripped the eyes from his skull.

Reid fought not to vomit as he watched, eventually clamping his eyes shut and trying not to hear the sounds of the man dying just a few feet away from him.

It was only after Chilton finally stopped gasping that Hannibal spoke.

"Open your eyes, Spencer," he said, "I want you to see this."

The threat was thinly veiled in Hannibal's tone. Slowly, Reid opened his eyes and had to fight against the urge to slam them closed again.

Hannibal had laid Chilton's eyes on a cloth napkin on the table and was bent over the dead body, untying the no longer needed cables.

He easily lifted the body and seemed oblivious to the blood that was now staining the suit he wore. Reid imagined that Hannibal was normally more careful about the mess he made, but he was limited on time and had the threat of recapture hanging over his head, so he was forced to compromise his methods.

He carried Chilton's body into the kitchen and Reid realized that the music was still going in the background.

Hannibal wasn't gone long, reappearing and grabbing hold of Spencer's chair.

"What are you doing?" his voice shook more than he was comfortable with, but he fought to ignore that.

"I rarely have the opportunity to cook for an audience, Spencer," Hannibal said, "You cannot begrudge me this. Especially after your extremely poor behavior."

His throat tightened. "I don't -"

A hand came down to grip Spencer's shoulder painfully as Hannibal settled his chair in the kitchen so that he could watch him work.

"I would advise strongly against speaking right now, Spencer," he said. "We will discuss what I'm going to do about your egregious breech in manners after we've had dinner."

Spencer's heart wasn't even beating anymore, it was vibrating. He nodded slowly and looked up at his captor with wide eyes. He needed to do whatever Hannibal wanted if he wanted to keep on living.

"Okay," he whispered, "whatever you want."

Hannibal smiled and ruffled Spencer's hair fondly before picking up a rather large butcher's knife and turning his attention to the body on the counter.

* * *

Several hundred miles away, in a small home in Louisiana, a ringing cell phone roused a sleeping couple.

Fumbling, Will grabbed his phone and pressed it to his ear, offering Molly an apologetic smile. She simply sat up and flicked on the lamp, watching him.

"Will, don't hang up,"

Will tensed, his entire body going rigid. He glanced awkwardly at Molly and shoved the blankets back, shaking his head at her inquisitive look. He hurried out of the bedroom as fast as his legs would carry him.

She didn't know about his past and never asked questions about his scars after he told her he wasn't comfortable talking about it. He didn't want her to know about everything that had happened.

"Jack, you've got no right to call me -"

"Lecter escaped," Jack cut him off.

Will frowned and glanced back toward the bedroom. "More than a week ago, I heard. You're just now calling to warn me?"

"No,"

"I'm not going back," Will said, "I don't need any more scars, Jack, and I've got Molly to think about now."

"I know, Will. Alana told me not to call, but we need you on this. It's important."

"You can catch the bastard without me, Jack. As far as Hannibal is concerned, I'm dead."

"Will -"

"No, Jack,"

"He took Dr. Reid," Jack said flatly, "last night as far as we can tell."

Will's throat convulsed and he grimaced, swearing quietly as he nearly tripped over one of the dogs wandering underfoot.

"He could still be alive, Will. We need you on this."

Will closed his eyes and cursed Jack with everything he had before responding.

"Give me a couple of days," he said, "I'll be there."

* * *

**A/N: **Oh am so excited about this xD Just you guys wait.

Don't forget to review! More fun next chapter!


	16. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Three

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks for your awesome reviews, guys! I love you! Also, I've decided: from now on updates will be twice a week, Mondays and Fridays. Figured you guys would enjoy that :) And sometimes I get impatient.

Warnings for this chapter include drug use of the non-consensual variety, violence, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, discussion of the morality of cannibalism, and sexual assault/very dubious consent. Proceed with caution.

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

Spencer looked like he was going to puke as he watched Hannibal work. He had seen many gruesome scenes in his time with the FBI, but seeing the aftermath was very different from seeing the damage done in real time.

He'd stripped Chilton of his blood soaked garments and laid them carefully to the side. It was hardly difficult to split his body up the middle and remove the organs. Some he sat aside to be used shortly, others he placed very carefully in Styrofoam containers to be stored and used later. The heart, lungs and kidneys went into containers while the liver was carefully placed into the sink.

It was difficult to cleave the ribs apart without the proper tools and certainly messy, but Hannibal was delighted to find a pair of sturdy gloves to keep his hands relatively clean.

He debated about taking part of the intestines, but decided against it. He had little time or need for sausage at the moment.

As he placed the kidneys gently in the container, Hannibal looked up and smiled faintly at Spencer.

"You look ill, Spencer," he said.

"I'm watching you butcher a dead man," Spencer's tone was acidic. "A dead man I _knew_."

Hannibal smiled fondly as he removed the pancreas and held it carefully up for a moment, contemplating.

"But not a man you cared for or respected,"

"Is that supposed to make it easier to watch this?"

"It should," Hannibal said. "You were not fond of Chilton. Why should you allow this to bother you?"

He sat the pancreas inside a container and finished packing up the organs he was saving, placing them in the refrigerator for the time being.

He continued cutting into Chilton, deftly sliding the knife down his throat to prod his fingers inside. He seemed dissatisfied and instead began working on cutting out the tongue, smiling at the disgusted look Spencer gave him as he pulled the muscle entirely from Chilton's mouth.

"You are going to have to grow accustomed to this, Spencer," Hannibal told him. "After all, in a short while you're going to be consuming Dr. Chilton."

"I'd rather not," Reid said as Hannibal rolled the body off the counter and sat it on the floor. Bodily fluids leaked out, forming a new puddle beneath his prone form and Hannibal's upper lip curled at the sight.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter," Hannibal said, turning his attention to the liver in the sink. He stripped the gloves from his hands and washed them carefully before turning back to the meat.

He'd already been cooking before Chilton arrived, getting things prepared for the meal he was going to make out of him. Spencer could smell the food only faintly over the metallic smell of blood and other bodily fluids he would rather not think about.

He watched Hannibal move about the kitchen effortlessly. He had been elegant and dangerous when he'd killed Chilton, but this was something else. He move with a fluidity that was almost like a dance, swift and sure on his feet as he sliced and mixed.

It was like watching some intimate performance that no one was supposed to see. He knew enough not to speak to Hannibal while he was working, instead finding himself getting lost in following the steady movements.

Reid wasn't a cook. He knew enough to survive, but he cooked out of necessity not desire. He used a microwave more often than anything. Morgan had tried to teach him to grill once, but that had ended badly. He'd never really seen the appeal of cooking for the joy of it. Not until he watched Hannibal tossing Chilton's liver into a frying pan. The man looked almost euphoric. It was the happiest Spencer had ever seen him. He was truly in his element.

Hannibal felt Spencer's eyes on him, could feel the wonder and slight amazement in his stare. He smiled to himself as he worked.

* * *

Reid's hands were still tied to the arms of the chair whenever Hannibal settled him back at the table in the dining room.

The blood had been cleaned up as best as was possible. There was little trace of the murder that had taken place - except for the body still lying on the floor in the kitchen.

Hannibal had changed out of the suit he'd bloodied and was wearing a three-piece grey suit. It still didn't fit quite right, just a bit too loose on Hannibal's thinner frame, but he looked remarkably put together for man who had just escaped from a prison for the the criminally insane.

Hannibal sat a plate in front of his prisoner and smiled fondly at him. He sat next to the young agent and watched his face twist a bit as he looked down at the meal. It was a fine dinner, especially considering how pressed for time he already was.

"If you continue to stare at my food as if it is bile, I'm going to become extremely offended, Spencer,"

"It's not _food_ it's _people_," Reid said stiffly.

"It's nature," Hannibal said. "The strong consume the weak."

"Humans are sapient animals," Reid said, "capable of intelligent thought, reasoning and logic. We hunt other animals for food and—especially in these modern times when it's entirely possibly to _buy_ food to eat—there is no _need_ to consume our own species."

Hannibal's eyes shone. "Perhaps our ability to feel emotions and empathize with others is our greatest weakness. We are shackled by morals that are a product of so-called polite society. I kill the people who add nothing to society, Spencer. I make them useful in their death as they never were in life. I kill for survival. I have never killed for petty, unjust reasons."

"You don't get to decide who should live and die," Spencer argued. "You aren't God."

Hannibal smiled. "You do not believe in God, Spencer,"

"All the more reason for you to stop playing at being him,"

Hannibal sighed. "It may take some convincing, but you will see things properly eventually," he said, leaning forward and carefully picking up food from Spencer's plate with the fork.

He held it up, studying it for a moment before pushing it toward Spencer's tightly sealed lips.

"Eat, Spencer,"

Spencer shook his head and glared at the fork. He tugged at the bindings around his wrists and looked from the plate to Hannibal.

"I will untie you when I feel I can trust you," Hannibal said. "Now eat."

He shook his head again and Hannibal narrowed his eyes, his features suddenly becoming sharper. Spencer's heart sped up in his chest, but he didn't open his mouth.

"I will not ask you again, Spencer. You will eat or I will find your teammates and I will kill them while you watch."

It took every ounce of fear-tinged courage he had for Spencer to open his mouth. Hannibal smiled and easily slipped the fork past his parted lips. With a jerky movement, Spencer accepted it. He held it in his mouth for a long moment before chewing, his face going pale as he forced himself to swallow it.

He hated to admit that it was delicious - a texture he'd never felt before and a flavor beyond what he would have expected. He pressed his lips together tightly at Hannibal's smiling face.

"Well?"

"I hate you," he muttered, looking down at the table.

Hannibal laughed and shook his head. "I will take that as a compliment for now, Spencer."

He lifted another forkful and held it toward his captive.

"Eat."

* * *

"I am going to ask you to sit very still," Hannibal came up behind Spencer, putting his hands on the young man's shoulders.

The kitchen had been cleared and Chilton's body had been moved and redressed, posed in his upstairs office. The blood was almost entirely cleaned away and Hannibal had even washed the dishes.

Spencer swallowed roughly. "You're going to untie me?"

"We have lingered here long enough. We need to be gone before dawn. I am going to ask you not to try to run, Spencer. It will annoy me greatly."

Spencer nodded shakily, his body on edge as Hannibal bent and cut the cables around his raw wrists. The second that the ties fell away, Spencer was out of the chair, his feet carrying him out of the kitchen without looking back.

He heard Hannibal sigh heavily behind him, but there were no footsteps. Hannibal moved like a ghost. Spencer managed to get to the door, fumbling for the knob.

Strong fingers came down over Spencer's shoulder, yanking him back and clamping over the young man's mouth.

Hannibal leaned forward and his hot breath rasped in his ear,

_"I told you not to run away,"_

* * *

Spencer hissed as the gag Hannibal had shoved into his mouth was removed. They were in a cheap motel somewhere in Maryland. Spencer hadn't been able to read the name and Hannibal had been careful to drag him into the room in the darkness.

His left hand was tied tightly to the headboard and he tugged at it, frowning as Hannibal sat a bag on the bed and unzipped it carefully. Spencer watched without a word as Hannibal removed a syringe and a small vial.

He swallowed roughly as Hannibal filled the syringe and tapped the air bubbles out of it. He removed a thin elastic band and slid closer to the young man, smiling a bit when he shrank back from him.

"What are you doing?" his voice shook.

"You lied to me, Spencer;" he said casually. "You told me that Will Graham was dead when he was not. You ran away from me when I specifically told you not to. You cannot think I would let that behavior go?"

He moved forward again, tying the tourniquet around Spencer's arm.

"What is that?" Spencer's voice was small, barely more than a whimper.

"It was not easy to acquire given my current circumstances," Hannibal said, "but I mastered the art of breaking and entering quite a while ago."

"What is it?"

Hannibal smiled as he pressed the needle against the vein.

"It is a narcotic pain killer," he said, "Dilaudid."

"Please," Reid's voice cracked, "Please don't."

Hannibal smiled and shook his head, "I'm afraid I must," he said. Reid closed his eyes, shaking his head pleadingly as Hannibal pushed the plunger.

He was crying, tears smeared down his cheeks as he kept shaking his head. Hannibal deftly removed the syringe and slipped it into the bag, sitting it on the floor and sliding closer to the hysterical young agent.

He was already starting to act a bit loopy, his breathing shallow as he stared into Hannibal's eyes pleadingly.

Hannibal eyed him with sympathy that Spencer couldn't tell was real or not. He reached forward and pulled Spencer to him, nestling his face into the crook of his throat. He ran his fingers through his tangled curls while Spencer fought the drug that was rushing through his system.

"I am sorry, Spencer," he said gently, lifting the young man's face from his shoulder so that he could meet his drug-glazed eyes.

Spencer's lips trembled and he clutched at Hannibal's suit jacket, his eyes wide.

"Don't" he choked, "Don't go. Please."

Hannibal smiled and swiped at the tears on his face.

"I am not going anywhere, Spencer," he assured him, wondering what exactly Spencer was seeing. His trembling wasn't quite as bad with the drug working through his body, slowing things down and fogging his mind over.

His tongue darted out of his mouth, licking his lips in a nervous movement. Need swelled in Hannibal's chest and he couldn't wait another second.

He gripped Spencer's chin between his fingers and tilted his face up, leaning down and closing his mouth over the agent's.

He resisted for a moment before his wide eyes fluttered closed and he melted into the kiss, letting Hannibal force his lips apart, his tongue tangling down Spencer's throat. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, biting down on it roughly.

Spencer shivered and whimpered, his hips canting forward. Hannibal grinned and ran a hand up Spencer's thigh, palming his growing arousal through his pants.

As soon as he gripped him through the fabric, Spencer let out a high pitched keen and shoved him back with glassy eyes, shaking his head.

"No- stop. This... We shouldn't... I don't want..."

Hannibal squeezed his erection again and Spencer whimpered.

"It does not feel like you don't want this, Spencer,"

"P-please, don't," Spencer's words were slurred. He would pass out any moment now, Hannibal was sure of it. "It's wrong..."

He swallowed several times when Hannibal didn't listen, instead unzipping his trousers and slipping a hand inside. His fingers found him easily in his underwear and Spencer jerked upward into the touch.

Hannibal stroked him slowly, fingers teasing the hot flesh expertly. The tears were back, flowing hotly from his foggy eyes. He whined and bit down on his lip, breathing harshly.

"I'm not... I'm not-"

Hannibal silenced him with another kiss, licking his way back into Spencer's mouth and quickening the pace of his fingers. Spencer's hips jerked up to meet him. He tried to talk, but with the tongue down his throat that was difficult.

Finally, his entire body stilled and then convulsed beneath Hannibal's hands. Hannibal smiled and pulled back, watching Spencer's hazel eyes roll back in his head, leaning forward after a moment to lick at the tears on his cheeks.

"I hate you," he whispered, his voice cracked and broken as he slumped against the headboard. His eyes were closed and his words were almost impossible to make out.

"I hate you,"

Hannibal's eyes twinkled with amusement and he stood, heading into the small bathroom to wash his hands. When he came back out, Spencer was breathing evenly again, his eyes closed in unnatural sleep.

* * *

**A/N: **A brief note: in the original version of this chapter Reid made the argument that cannibalism was wrong because humans were _sentient. _While this is true, the argument of human _sapience _is a bit more...? Accurate? See, I learned a few months back that pretty much ALL animals are sentient - able to feel emotions and pain and such - but few are believed to be sapient, meaning able to reason and solve problems with logic. Dolphins, for example, are believed to be sapient mammals which is why it's considered taboo by so many people to eat them - scientists believe they may have intelligence approaching that of human beings.

But anyway, I altered the argument because after learning that I felt that Reid would have been more likely to make the argument this way rather than the way I originally had written it. I'll stop babbling now.

See you guys Monday! Don't forget to review!


	17. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Four

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks as always to everyone who reviewed! I appreciate your lovely comments :)

Warnings for this chapter include gore, graphic crime scenes, discussion of cannibalism, mentions of sexual assault and, well, Hannibal being Hannibal, basically.

Please review!

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Four**

* * *

Molly watched her fiancé throw a suitcase on the bed in the early hours of the morning and frowned, crossing her arms.

"Will," she reached out to touch his shoulder as he started tossing clothes into the bag. He whirled around and blinked at her, noticing her visible flinch and ignoring it.

A lot of people looked at him like that these days. The scars made it nearly impossible for him to go anywhere without people gawking at him. One long, looping scar went from just below his right eye to his chin and another cut across his left eyebrow and down across his nose. They were white and partly raised, gnarled and twisted hideously. Not as bad, however, as the ones on his chest, which crisscrossed and tangled together violently, dark and extremely visible against his skin. He rarely took his shirt off anymore.

"Will," Molly repeated, "what's going on? Is this about that phone call you got last night?"

Will was silent for a long moment, staring at the ring on her left hand. It wasn't much - there's only so much money a boat mechanic can make - but it had seemed to be enough for her. He hesitated and looked back toward the half-packed suitcase.

"It has everything to do with that call, Molly," he said.

She frowned. "Then what was the call about?"

He sucked in a sharp breath and closed his eyes. "You know how I never talk about how these happened?" He indicated his face with a sharp gesture and Molly nodded, her body going still. She could tell Will was about to tell her something important. Something horrible.

"I got them when a serial killer broke into my home and tried to kill me," he said. "Obviously he lost. I killed him, stabbed him with his own damn knife." Will's voice was bitter as he spoke.

"And the reason he was trying to kill me is because I was trying to catch him. It's what I do, Molly. Or, did, I suppose. I find killers."

"Like," Molly licked her lips, frowning, "like a detective, you mean?"

"Not - not exactly," Will said. "I worked with the FBI... I can... It's complicated." He sighed and rubbed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. "The point is, they need me."

Molly frowned, "They need you? After you were brutally attacked they're going to ask you to work again?"

Will's smile was watery. "The thing is Molly… this killer is different. It's Hannibal Lecter. I sort of... I _knew_ him. And he's taken a friend." Friend seemed like the closest word for whatever his relationship with Dr. Reid was. "I have to go."

Molly looked a bit shell-shocked as she stared at her soon-to-be husband.

"This sounds dangerous, Will,"

"I'm not going to lie; it's going to be dangerous, but I'm going to be careful. I promise."

Molly pursed her lips and shook her head, "I don't know, Will –"

"I'll be fine. Look, I've got a flight to catch soon... I'll call you as soon as I get to Virginia."

Will went back to packing, tossing clothing into the bag haphazardly. He could feel Molly's confused gaze on his back, but fought the urge to turn around. He knew that she had questions, but they would have to wait.

"Why didn't you ever tell me about this, Will?"

"About what?" Will asked absently, not turning around to face her.

"Working for the FBI," Molly said, "Catching serial killers."

"I didn't want to," Will said. "My past isn't a friendly place. It's dark and unpleasant. I didn't think you needed to worry about that."

"You should've told me, Will," she said. "I don't like you keeping such a big part of you secret."

He pressed his lips together and zipped the bag shut, turning toward her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll make it up to you, but not now. I've got to go. I'm sorry,"

* * *

Reid woke groggy, still feeling the fading effects of the drug. His mind was hazy and half-stuck in the dream he'd had in which Hannibal had forced him to eat Dr. Chilton while the man was still alive.

He shivered and looked down at himself to make sure that he was indeed not covered in blood. What he saw instead made him shift uncomfortably. His pants were still unzipped and he could feel the disgusting feeling of cold semen between his legs. He fought back a rush of bile and looked up, finding Hannibal resting on the other bed, reading.

He knew the other man had heard him wake and was simply ignoring him. He clenched his fists and tugged hard at the bindings on his left wrist. The headboard banged a bit, but Hannibal still didn't move. After several minutes, Reid cleared his throat, trying to be as polite as he possibly could to avoid making Hannibal angry.

"Could I take a shower?" he asked, "or–or at least change clothes?"

Finally, Hannibal looked up, smiling a bit as he studied the younger man. He stood and closed the book without a word and moved toward his captive.

"Do I need to remind you not to attempt another foolish escape, Spencer?" he asked, reaching for the ties, but not undoing them.

Reid shook his head. "I won't," he said. "I just want to get cleaned up."

Hannibal nodded and cut the cord, sitting back as Spencer slowly drew his wrist to his chest, inspecting the reddened, raw skin.

He thought about running. The door was only a few feet away and it was daylight through the curtains. With any luck, he'd at least make it outside and someone might see him. But Hannibal was sitting too close and would definitely catch him. He still felt unfocused because of the drug and he wasn't willing to risk another dose for the time being. He allowed Hannibal to pull his wrists into his hands, watching him as he studied the red welts and darkening bruises.

"I will have to bandage these," he said, "they do not look bad now, but in time they could prove to be bothersome."

_In time…_

Reid cautiously met his eyes. "Does that mean you've decided not to kill me?"

"For now," Hannibal nodded. "I am rather fond of you, Spencer. The world would be a poorer place without you in it."

He nodded, only feeling somewhat better knowing he would be allowed to live a while longer. He barely registered Hannibal taking him by the arm and leading him to the bathroom.

It felt small and cramped with Hannibal inside, but Reid didn't argue, instead keeping his head down as he stripped and climbed into the shower. He didn't mind the freezing temperature either; it was bracing.

They were silent – Hannibal watching Spencer and Spencer pretending he wasn't being watched – until Reid stepped out of the shower and accepted the towel that Hannibal offered him. He quickly covered himself and fought not to blush as Hannibal led him back out into the room and handed him a clean set of clothes – his own clothes.

"Did you take these from my apartment?" His brow scrunched as he frowned down at the shirt he was buttoning up.

Hannibal nodded. "Of course. It would only slow us down if I were to purchase new clothes for you. And you will undoubtedly feel more comfortable in your own clothing in any case."

Reid simply nodded, fighting the urge to bite his lip again. He'd noticed that Hannibal seemed to like it whenever he did that. Hannibal's eyes were on him, watching him like he was a particularly interesting piece of artwork.

"You seem anxious, Spencer," Hannibal said gently.

"Maybe that has something to do with you sexually assaulting me,"

Hannibal raised a brow. "What happened last night was hardly an assault, Spencer."

Spencer scowled, looking down at his knees and picking at the fabric on his shirt. "You drugged me and then kissed me and _touched_ me in spite of me telling you to stop multiple times. That's the definition of sexual assault."

"Are you saying that you have never thought of engaging in sexual intercourse with me? Never fantasized about it?"

Reid could feel his face heat with blush, but he shook his head adamantly. "Of course not!"

"I thought I had made it clear that I did not appreciate you lying to me,"

Reid closed his eyes and nodded slowly. "I – once. It was a dream. I can hardly claim control over what I dream about."

Hannibal smiled. "Of course not," he said, "but I find our dreams can be very telling, wouldn't you agree?"

* * *

Will's shoulders ached as he stood outside of Chilton's office. The body had been discovered in the late afternoon when the hospital had sent someone over to check on Chilton after he didn't show up for work and wasn't responding to calls. Jack wanted to cover the murder up as much as he could, already knowing how poorly this would reflect on the bureau. They'd concentrated most of their efforts in and around Quantico and DC after learning of Dr. Reid's abduction, not considering that Hannibal may have decided to go back to Baltimore for Chilton.

He hadn't looked at the crime scene photos; he'd rather have a fresh perspective. Not that he expected to see much. He already knew Hannibal detested his doctor and he was fairly sure that he wouldn't be learning anything new by examining the scene. Jack thought it was worth a shot though.

He pushed the door open, steeling himself against the rush of sensations he was sure to experience. It had been a long time since the Tooth Fairy case. Since he'd met Molly all of that felt like it was a lifetime ago. He had to prepare himself for what was waiting inside.

Chilton looked awful. His eyes were bloody, black sockets, the dark blood crusted down his face like macabre tears. His mouth hung open, a dark pit in his face. Even from where he was standing he could tell that his tongue was missing.

He was seated at his desk, clothed in one of his suits. His jacket was open to reveal the shirt that was stained with blood and from what Will could tell was doing a poor job of holding in his intestines. He'd been gutted then.

His sleeves were rolled up and his legs crossed unnaturally. His hands were folded together in a mockingly stereotypical therapist steeple and appeared to have been sewn together.

Normally, Will would have bet that Hannibal would do something like that before killing Chilton, but the lack of bleeding around dead flesh suggested that nearly everything had been done postmortem.

The one bone deep gash in his throat was clearly the cause of death. It must've been messy. Hannibal had cleaned up the blood, of course.

He closed his eyes and felt the pendulum swing, wiping the slate clean, undoing Hannibal's work until he could reconstruct his design.

_Chilton begs for his life. Whimpering like a coward. I ignore it. It's pathetic and grating, just as everything he does is. _

_He attempts to appease me with anything he can. He tries to turn my attention to other things. Will Graham. Spencer Reid. Maybe Clarice Starling._

_It may catch my attention but it doesn't save him from his fate. I cut his throat in one swift movement. He clings to life stupidly, prolonging his own suffering. _

_There is blood spurting with each failed breath and I savor the fear and pain he is drowning in. His eyes are open and frantically rolling. They annoy me. _

_I rip them out. I don't use any instruments to do so. My own fingers are sufficient. _

_He dies slowly and in pain, as he should. _

_Once he is dead I move the body. I strip him and begin to butcher him, taking what I want and discarding the rest. I make Spencer watch. He should know firsthand what I am truly capable of. _

_This is my design._

It felt distant, like he was just barely clinging to Hannibal's motives and methods. A hollow reconstruction at best. Not that Will was surprised. Even after piecing together who and what Hannibal was, he had never tried to look much farther than the surface of his crimes. A defense mechanism, probably.

The only thing he was certain of was that Dr. Reid was alive. Hannibal would have left his body here with Chilton's if he'd decided to kill him.

"Hard to believe no one saw this coming," a thickly accented voice spoke behind him and he jumped, spinning around.

A young woman was standing in the doorway, watching him curiously. She looked vaguely familiar, but Will wasn't sure why.

"What?"

"It was pretty obvious Dr. Lecter disliked Dr. Chilton. I'm surprised Chilton didn't insist on having some sort of protection."

Will frowned. "Chilton was an idiot," he said. "He never believed he could be in real danger. Not even the last time a patient escaped."

She nodded, her lips pursed. She looked a little green, but was handling the brutal scene well for someone so young.

"Sorry, who are you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry! Clarice Starling,"

She held out a hand and Will stared at it before she let it drop awkwardly. He studied her face but avoided her eyes.

"Starling?" he asked. "You're the trainee Jack sent to talk to Hannibal, right?"

"Not a trainee anymore, but yes," she said. "And you're Will Graham. You look remarkably alive for a dead man."

Will nodded. "Funny, I don't _feel_ very alive."

"I'm surprised Agent Crawford asked you back on the case. If Dr. Lecter finds out you aren't dead he could kill Dr. Reid for lying to him."

Will looked around the room, shaking his head. "Punish him? Yes. Kill him? No. Hannibal wouldn't kill Reid for just lying. He'll make him pay though."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because he likes Dr. Reid," Will muttered, pushing his way past her. "It's the same reason I was able to get away with being a jackass on more than one occasion. It's why he still talked to _you_ after you lied to him."

Clarice frowned, following Will down the stairs.

"Whether Dr. Lecter liked me or not, I'm not going to let that cloud my judgement. I'm going to find him and stop him."

Will kept walking, only glancing over his shoulder as he spoke. "What's your point, Agent Starling?"

She sighed. "My point, Investigator Graham," she said, "is that you seem distracted. I hope you aren't going to let your past relationship with Lecter color your work."

Will came to a sudden stop and Clarice had to catch herself before she ran right into him. He turned around and met her eyes angrily. "Hannibal Lecter is a psychopathic, sadistic cannibal. He nearly eviscerated me and tried to frame me for murder. He is the worst kind of monster there is. Does my judgement _sound_ clouded?"

Clarice seemed unaffected by his hostility – a fact that Will grudgingly admired.

"That's all I needed to know."

* * *

"Are you hungry, Spencer?" Hannibal was pulling a plastic container filled with what was left of the meal from the previous night from the small refrigerator. He glanced back toward the younger man, who pressed his lips together and shook his head.

He was thankfully not restrained at the moment, but that made little difference considering how closely Hannibal was monitoring him. He hadn't left the motel room all day and had been watching the news most of the time, trying to find out if they had discovered Chilton's body. There hadn't been any news about a murder yet.

"You haven't eaten all day," Hannibal chided.

"I'm not exactly thrilled with the thought of eating human meat," Reid muttered.

"You ate it last night," Hannibal reminded him, "and you cannot say that the taste bothered you."

"It isn't the taste I'm concerned about," Reid felt a bubble of anger surging in his chest. "It's the fact that you're trying to force me to eat people."

"You've already eaten it once," Hannibal said. "A second time will be no worse. Though I would prefer not to serve leftovers; it is an unfortunate necessity at the moment."

"I'm not hungry," he said flatly.

Hannibal sighed, but nodded. "Since you have behaved so well today I won't force you to eat. But you cannot avoid it forever."

Spencer sighed in relief and leaned against the headboard, closing his eyes. The sound of the microwave was the only sound for a long minute.

The bed dipped suddenly and Reid jerked upright, his eyes flying open as he brought his knees to his chest.

Hannibal was staring at him intently. "You are far too tense, Spencer,"

"I'm being held prisoner by a psychopath. It isn't exactly a relaxing situation."

He chuckled and shook his head. "I believe I told you before how unbecoming sarcasm is for you."

Reid looked down and shrugged, not sure what Hannibal expected him to say.

"I would appreciate it if you would be so kind as to hold a friendly conversation with me,"

"How do I have a friendly conversation with a serial killer?"

"You've done so countless times before,"

Slowly, Spencer nodded. "What exactly do you want to talk about?"

Hannibal smiled. "I would be quite interested to hear more about your girlfriend. Maeve, I believe. I didn't get her surname. She seems rather fascinating..."

* * *

**A/N: ***cue evil laughter* *clears throat* Anyway. Yeah.

Before I forget, Molly Foster in this story is based fairly heavily on her film portrayal in _Red Dragon_. I only mention this because, well, I really didn't like Molly Graham in the the movie, but I am so far adoring Molly in season three and just wanted to make that clear.

See you guys Friday!

Don't forget to review!


	18. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Five

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **And we're back. Thanks as always for your reviews, guys! I appreciate them!

Judging from some of the comments, you guys were a bit squicked out by the last couple of chapters. Let me warn you, again, that it's only going to get worse. Those warnings stand. This is going to some very fucked up places. Be prepared for that.

Please review!

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Five**

* * *

"M - Maeve?" Spencer's voice cracked and Hannibal smiled. Whenever he was stressed Spencer's voice took on a faintly childlike quality, pitched just an octave too high, and his speech began to run together like his words were having trouble keeping up with his thoughts. It was fascinating to behold.

"How do you know about her?" he asked, his eyes searching Hannibal's for something that they couldn't find.

"Surely you don't imagine that I would let so serious a development as you entering into a relationship slip by me?"

Spencer swallowed and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Hannibal had to reign in the part of him that wanted to lean forward and capture that tongue between his teeth.

"It's a little bit unnerving that you know so much about me," he said.

"You have told me quite a bit about yourself, Spencer," Hannibal reminded him, "I extrapolated the things you left out."

"I never told you anything about Maeve,"

"I am capable of doing research should the opportunity present itself. It wasn't difficult to search through your phone and correspondence whenever I entered your apartment."

Spencer shivered a bit and shook his head.

"Where did you meet her?"

"I don't feel comfortable discussing this with you," Reid said.

"Spencer," Hannibal's voice was gentle, carrying only a hint of a threat as he studied him, "I do not wish to bring any harm to her, merely to know how you feel about her. A woman capable of capturing your interest and holding her own intellectually in a relationship with you must be quite rare indeed."

Spencer's lips pressed tightly together and he made a point of not looking at Hannibal.

"Now tell me," the threat was less subtle this time, "how did you meet?"

He closed his eyes as he spoke, as if that would somehow help him to avoid the reality he was currently trapped in. Hannibal had realized early on that Spencer had myriad coping mechanisms that he employed. All of them apparent in some physical tic that fascinated him.

"She is a neurologist," he said, "She works for a large research company in developing medicine and studying neurological illnesses. I - I met her when I was looking for someone to help me with my headaches."

Hannibal raised a brow, "Did she help?"

"She - she thought the headaches might be cause by a combination of psychological stress and neurological symptoms. She gave me medication to manage to pain and to isolate the part of my brain that was interpreting mental stress as physical pain... I haven't had a headache in a couple of weeks."

"So she has been helpful," Hannibal nodded, "When precisely did you begin your intimate relationship?"

Spencer grimaced and bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from blurting out that it was none of Hannibal's business.

"Intimate... is not the right word," he said, "not - not physically at least. We only just started, uh, dating. Our - the relationship is more intellectual at this point."

"Have you kissed her?"

A hysterical bubble of laughter worked its way up and out of Reid's chest and he looked up to meet Hannibal's gaze at the question.

"Why do you care?"

"I care because I find you fascinating, Spencer. I want to know everything there is to know about you."

Spencer sighed and nodded, "A few times," he said quietly, "N-not anything really intense..." he fumbled for the correct word and frowned, "Just quick, soft kisses. That's as far as we got."

"Do you fantasize about her, Spencer? About _fucking_ her?"

Spencer's face went bright red and he shook his head violently, "Of course not!"

Hannibal raised a brow at that, "You would consider that vulgar?" he asked.

"Y-Yes," Spencer's voice was shaken, choked around his embarrassment and fear.

"Yet you have fantasized about me?"

"That - I didn't - that was a dream!" he sounded exasperated as he struggled for the right words to say.

"I had no control over that!"

"Ah," Hannibal nodded, smiling slightly.

"What is your Maeve like, Spencer? Is she shy, quiet? I imagine she is quite intelligent. Is she soft and pretty? Do you like the sound of her voice? Does her laughter send the blood pulsing to your groin? Do you find yourself staring at her mouth or her breasts -"

"STOP IT! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"

Hannibal froze at Spencer's outburst, fixing him with a stern stare. The young doctor retreated into himself, curling up and shrinking back from the burning glare.

"I do not appreciate being shouted at, Spencer," his voice was calm and even, the very tangible threat clinging to the soft spoken words.

"I'm sorry," Spencer's voice was small and he was staring straight at his knees, his lips folded together tightly.

"I didn't mean to -"

"I'll forgive you this time," Hannibal reached out to touch Spencer's hair, ignoring the way the young man flinched away from his fingers. "Do not let it happen again."

Spencer only nodded, but it was answer enough for Hannibal. He let his hand drop and watched Spencer until he finally uncurled himself. He still leaned away from Hannibal and kept his gaze trained downward, but it was a start.

"It's getting late," Hannibal said gently, "You should get some rest. We are going to have to move in the morning."

Hannibal watched Spencer sleep and wondered at how peaceful he seemed. Awake the lines of stress and fear were obvious, his skin taut with the tension. Asleep, however, the lines were invisible, the worries and demons of the waking hours gone, at least for a while. He seemed almost childish, his pale skin smooth and soft, the thin membrane of his eyelids tinged faintly purple. If it weren't for the occasional furrowing of his brow or the deep bruise-like bags beneath his eyes one could easily imagine that Spencer Reid led an entirely stress-free life.

It was a strange contrast to Will, who rarely looked at peace even in his sleep. He would twitch and mutter and thrash in the throes of his night terrors, his sleep-slackened face lined with fear and bitterness. Will fought his nightly demons with self-loathing and hate, while Spencer bore the torment with slightly shaking resolution and acceptance.

Thinking of Will, Hannibal allowed his thoughts to drift to revelation of his ruse to escape him. He had never considered his Will the type to run away, though he could not say that he was wholly surprised; Jack should never have asked him back for the Tooth Fairy case.

It had been obvious to Hannibal that Will had been trying to forge a new existence for himself and Jack had caused it to come crumbling down. He supposed he might have been partially to blame for that, but it was, after all, Jack who sent Will back to him in the first place.

Knowing Will was alive changed his plans a bit. He was certain that Jack would ask for Will's help once more and he would probably use Spencer's abduction or Chilton's murder to draw him back in. Will had said Hannibal was a cruel manipulator, but Hannibal wondered if Will even saw the strings Jack Crawford frequently used to pull him around.

Knowing Will was still out there awoken old longings and urges within Hannibal. He suddenly wanted not just Spencer, but his dear William as well. It would, unfortunately, be far too risky to attempt to take Will as he had Spencer, but perhaps he could get Will to come to him.

Will had always enjoyed a good chase, after all.

Smiling, Hannibal petted Spencer's hair softly, delighting in the way the young man murmured softly and turned into the touch. He sat back against the headboard, book in hand, and allowed himself to become lost in thoughts of his two favorite young men at his side.

* * *

"I did some research on that killer you said you're looking for," were the first words out of Molly's mouth when Will finally got a moment to call her.

"Molly -"

"He was you psychiatrist? You never even told me you were in therapy before. And who is Abigail Hobbs?"

Molly's voice had taken on a hysterical note of anger. She sounded betrayed. Not that Will blamed her. He had kept so much of his past from her and it wasn't fair that she had to find out all of it this way.

"You've been reading Freddie Lounds' stuff, haven't you?" he said, his mouth twisting bitterly.

"Will!" Molly huffed over the phone, "God, Will, reading all this I can hardly say I know you. Who are you?"

"I am your fiancé," Will said, "That's all you need to know. I promise, I will explain everything to you in person whenever I get home. But just... Don't take anything Lounds says as fact. She's slime, Molly. Half the shit she writes isn't true and what is true is still sensationalized bullshit."

Molly's sigh sounded exhausted this time, "I'm worried about you, Will," she said, "This Dr. Lecter seems like a really dangerous killer."

"He is," Will admitted, "that's why they called me. I'm good at catching the monsters."

"What am I supposed to tell Willy?" she asked, "He's already wondering where you are. Boat mechanics don't take business trips."

Will tugged at his hair and frowned. "Tell him whatever you want, Molly, he's your kid. If you think he can deal with the truth tell him that."

"_I_ don't even know the truth," she said.

"I'm sorry," Will had the feeling he was going to be saying that to her a lot. "Look, just do whatever you think is best. I'll tell you both everything, the whole story, when I get back. I have to go, Molly. I - I love you."

"Get back soon, Will," was all she said as she hung up. It wasn't lost on Will that she hadn't once said "I love you,". He shoved the phone into his pocket and forced the thoughts away. He didn't have time to think about that right now anyway.

"That your wife?"

Will spun around at the new voice and shifted on his feet, suddenly getting the urge to run away as Alana Bloom walked into the conference room with a curious look on her face. She wasn't smiling.

"Fiancé," Will corrected, his voice tight.

She nodded, "Ah," she said, "Well congratulations. I would've called... If, you know, I hadn't been under the impression that you were dead."

A barbed spike seem to stick inside Will's chest, "Alana, I didn't mean... Jack thought it was best if fewer people knew about it. I told him I wanted you to know, but he -"

"I get it, Will," she said. Her tone was less acidic than Will had expected. "You needed a clean break to get away from the killers and Hannibal. What I'm upset about is the fact that you came back."

At Will's confused look she continued, "Did it ever occur to you, when you were getting away from all of this, that Jack might be the one you needed to stay away from the most?"

Will scoffed bitterly, "Because that's possible."

Alana pressed her lips together, "I respect Jack as an FBI agent," she said, "but he is overstepping his boundaries here Will. From what I've heard you've built a home for yourself. You found something stable. You should go back there. Doing this never ends well for you."

She looked pointedly at his scars and Will had to fight the urge to reach up and touch them.

"I wish I could," Will said, "But this is Hannibal and he's got Dr. Reid and I can't help think that I'm to blame for that."

"Will -"

"Maybe if he had known I was alive he'd have come after me first. Maybe if I'd called Reid when I first read about him talking to Hannibal I could've stopped this all from happening. I don't know. What I do know is that I can't sit by and do nothing. I'm in this now."

Alana sighed, her eyes watching him with a strange combination of hurt and sorrow.

"That's what I was afraid of,"

* * *

**A/N:** I am not a doctor. I know next to nothing about medical science so if what I wrote about Reid's headaches is horribly inaccurate, feel free to yell at me about it.

Hannibal meets Maeve next chapter. That's exciting. See you guys Monday!

Don't forget to review!


	19. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Six

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Moving right along, then. Thanks everyone for the reviews and to those reading. Hope you're all enjoying the story still.

Warnings this chapter are non-consensual kissing, threats, violence and off-screen mutilation.

Please review!

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Six**

* * *

"What are you thinking?" Jack was suddenly behind Will and he fought not to react. His jaw tightened a bit and he kept his gaze trained on the evidence board. Hannibal had been as efficient and clean as he always had been at Chilton's home, but he hadn't bothered to wipe down fingerprints afterwards and had left the bloodied gloves he'd worn while carving into Chilton discarded in the trash bin.

Not that Will was surprised; Hannibal had no real need to hide the fact that he'd killed Chilton and fingerprints and bloody gloves didn't tell them a damn thing they didn't already know.

"Will?"

"I'm thinking," Will's voice was clipped and he still didn't turn around to face Jack, "that if we don't find them soon he'll be out of the country."

"We've got Lecter's face all over the media," Jack said, "there are checkpoints at every major exit -"

"It's not going to be enough," Will interrupted him. "He's already made it from Maryland to Virginia and back _with a hostage_. He'll have a fake passport, false IDs. I'm sure this isn't the first time he's had to reinvent himself. He knows how to hide."

"We're doing the best we can," Jack said.

"No," Will shook his head, "the best you could've done is make sure he didn't escape in the first place."

"We had guards -"

"Not smart ones," Will bit out the words, his frown twisting the scars on his face. "You _know_ Hannibal, Jack," he said, "You should've seen this coming."

"You expect me to be psychic now?"

"Why not? You seem to expect that from me,"

"Now wait a minute, Will, I never -"

"Just save it," Will cut him off again. He wasn't particularly in the mood to listen to anything that Jack had to say, Alana's earlier words tumbling through his mind. Maybe he was letting Jack manipulate him. The same way he'd let Hannibal manipulate him. He cringed.

"I'm not here for you this time," he said, turning to leave. "I'm here for Dr. Reid."

Jack pressed his lips together. "Where are you going?"

"To get coffee," Will answered, "or are coffee breaks not allowed?"

* * *

"Where are we?" Reid's voice shook as he carefully took a step forward. He was blindfolded – had been for the entire drive to wherever they were going – and he didn't like it. His chest was aching with the tension and Hannibal's hands were on his shoulders, guiding him through a door way.

He _felt_ like he was inside someone's apartment, but at the moment he wasn't entirely sure. He couldn't hear much aside from muffled feet on carpet and the faint hum of electronics. He hoped desperately that Hannibal wasn't going to make him watch him murder anyone else, at least not so soon.

"Shh," Hannibal's voice was close to his ear, uncomfortably loud in the quiet space. "Concentrate. It will come to you."

Spencer shivered and gulped, squeezing his eyes shut tight behind the blindfold. He had no idea what Hannibal expected from him and he wasn't sure that he wanted to know, but at least knowing would remove some of the tension.

He was nudged forward several more feet and pushed around a corner. His brows scrunched together. Now he heard someone else breathing, hard, quick pants swallowed by a gag. Muffled whimpers. Pitched high enough that Reid felt sure it was a woman.

"Whose apartment are we in?" he whispered quietly.

The fingers at his shoulders tightened.

"You tell me, Spencer,"

Reid's brow furrowed, "You aren't going to kill someone else are you? Dr. Lecter, please, I -"

"Shh," Hannibal cut him off. "Concentrate. I have faith in your ability to figure this out."

He pressed his lips together and tried to lift his hands up to tug off the blindfold. Hannibal had left his hands unrestrained with a not-so-subtle threat about what would happen if he tried anything.

"Ah," Hannibal caught his hands and held them around the still raw wrists, tugging them back behind his back. "Not until you tell me where we are."

"Why?"

"Because I want you to,"

Spencer sighed and forced himself to focus. There was a woman here, clearly terrified and gagged. Probably tied up. He doubted Hannibal would risk going somewhere public so this was likely an apartment. He tried to hear more beyond the woman's cries, but he couldn't.

He felt himself being pushed forward again and the woman whimpered louder this time. He sucked in a sharp breath and tensed, taking in the all too familiar aroma of Maeve's apartment. He could see it without the blindfold – the cream carpet, the light colored walls, the air freshener and perfume that mingled in the air.

"N-No…"

He could almost hear Hannibal's smile whenever he spoke. "Where are we, Spencer?"

"Don't," his voice sounded far off, echoing inside his own head. "Don't do this. Please don't do this."

Hannibal released his hands. "I haven't done anything, Spencer," he told him.

Consequences be damned, Reid lurched forward and ripped the blindfold off, blinking and turning his head several times to orient himself. He was in Maeve's living room. He spotted her tied to what looked like her desk chair, scarf in her mouth serving as the gag.

He stumbled awkwardly as he ran toward her, kneeling and starting to untie her hands whenever Hannibal grabbed him and yanked him back to his feet.

"No," he said sternly. "Do not touch her."

"B-But -"

"Spencer," the warning was clear in Hannibal's voice and the young man slowly nodded, his eyes watering a bit as he stared at his girlfriend. His entire body was trembling, fighting the urge to run to her and wrap his arms protectively around her. To shield her from whatever Hannibal's plan was.

"Don't kill her," Reid stared at Maeve as he talked, finding it easier to form words while focusing on her rather than Hannibal. "Please. She's never done anything. She's a good person."

"I have no intention of killing her," Hannibal's voice was surprisingly gentle. "This is not some perverse punishment, Spencer. This is a gift."

Reid blinked, his voice cracking. "What?"

"We are not going to remain in the United States for much longer. I cannot risk it. We will be leaving soon. You will never see her again. I thought you might want to say goodbye."

The tears in Reid's eyes slipped down his cheeks, but he kept his focus on Maeve. She had been crying, the tear tracks down her face obvious, but she wasn't at the moment. She was shaking in fear, whimpering a bit, but her gaze was steady on Spencer.

"Goodbye…" he echoed, his voice sounding horrible hollow.

He flinched when Hannibal put a hand on his shoulder. "Sit." He motioned to the couch and Spencer obeyed without a word, desperate to make sure that nothing happened to Maeve.

Smiling an entirely too self-appreciative smile, Hannibal went to Maeve and removed her gag, leaving her tied up.

"It's too much to ask you to leave isn't it?" Reid glanced toward Hannibal for a moment, but quickly looked back to Maeve.

"I'm afraid it is," Hannibal sounded truly sorry, but Reid was staring at the ties around Maeve's wrists and his blood was boiling. Her safety was the only thing preventing him from trying to rip Hannibal's throat out with his bare hands.

"I'm sorry," Reid told her, his voice quiet as he stared into her eyes. "I never meant for this to… You deserve so much better."

She smiled a bit. "Don't apologize, Spencer," she said. "This isn't your fault."

"If you'd never met me -"

"If I'd never met you, you would still be suffering debilitating headaches and I wouldn't have anyone to dance with in my dreams."

He laughed, the sound shaky and foreign. His eyes flicked to Hannibal again. He was watching them with an entirely blank expression on his face. He couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking.

"Maybe we can dance again one day," Maeve said quietly.

"Maybe…" Reid agreed. He didn't tell her that he was pretty sure that would be impossible. "You're going to be alright."

"Of course I am," she said. "You're here."

He smiled at her, the smile wider than before.

"You're going to be alright too, Spencer," she whispered, tears slipping from her eyes, "It wouldn't be fair if you weren't."

He swallowed and nodded jerkily, seeing Hannibal growing restless out of the corner of his eyes. He bit his lip and thought this might be his very last chance to ever say the three words he wanted so badly to say.

"I know… I know we only just… I mean…"

"Spencer," she smiled a bit, raising a brow at him. Calm even in the face of the danger around her.

"I – I love you," the words jumbled, rushed and squeaky coming out of his mouth. Her eyes widened a bit, her smile more genuine. She leaned forward as much as she could and held his gaze for a long moment.

"I love you, too," she whispered.

There was more he wanted to say – so much more. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her and tell her that he was going to be back and they were going to be together like they were supposed to be, but Hannibal stepped forward and touched his shoulder gently.

"That's enough," he said. "We cannot linger here long."

He stood shakily and Maeve followed him with her eyes. He wanted to run to her again, but Hannibal was gripping his arm tightly – he was certain there would be bruises there.

"Can I…?"

"No," Hannibal said sternly, "We must go." He dragged him out of the room and Spencer looked back at Maeve with wide, desperate eyes, yanking on the strong grip that held him.

"Spencer," Hannibal warned, frowning at him.

"Please… I just -"

"I said no," Hannibal sounded angry. He rarely sounded angry. It should probably have warned Spencer that something bad was about to happen. But he couldn't just leave her there. He couldn't.

He tugged harder at the grip.

Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in the back of his head and the cream colored carpet rushed up to greet him before everything went black.

* * *

When Spencer woke, he was in another motel room, his hands bound tightly behind his back, his feet tied to the legs of the chair. His head ached terribly and he grimaced, slowly lifting his head.

Hannibal was staring at him with an unreadable expression. There was a small box sitting on the table between them.

Opting not to speak, Reid instead looked around the room. It was small and cramped. Not very well kept or decorated. He could hear noises outside, what might have been a plane. They were at an airport. His stomach dropped.

His mouth felt painfully dry when he finally turned back to look at Hannibal, who was watching him with the same expression.

"What – What happened?"

"You would not listen," Hannibal said simply. "I took matters into my own hands. That will not happen again. When I tell you we are leaving, you will follow obediently."

Spencer's jaw tightened. "You can't really expect me to do whatever you tell me," he said. "You _kidnapped_ me. I'm not here because I want to be."

"You are here," Hannibal said, "because _I_ want you to be. And whenever you disobey, there will be consequences. You can't go unpunished."

_Unpunished_…

Spencer's heart skipped in his chest and he stared at the box.

"W-What's my punishment this time?" he asked carefully, not meeting Hannibal's dark gaze. It had been Dilaudid last time. He found himself desperately hoping that would be it again and not what he was thinking it was.

Hannibal stood and slid the box closer, his expression still blank and unreadable.

Spencer stopped breathing altogether as he waited. Hannibal lifted the lid and his heart sank, his breathing returning at a rapid rate. He hardly realized he was hyperventilating until Hannibal began speaking again.

"You will do as I say next time,"

"You killed her." Spencer only registered the sound of Hannibal's voice, his breathing loud and erratic in his ears. "You – You killed her!"

"Relax, Spencer." Hannibal pushed the box aside and knelt down, gripping either side of his captive's face and forcing his to meet his eyes.

"She is not dead," he said. "I can assure you that Maeve is quite alive. I told you I did not wish to kill her."

His breathing only slowed by a fraction and his eyes darted toward the box. To the finger that lay inside, pale and bloody and nestled in the same scarf that Hannibal had used to gag Maeve.

"Th-Then whose –"

"It is her finger,"

"Oh God…"

"But only her finger, Spencer," he said, pressing his fingers firmly into the sides of Spencer's skull. "She is alive and I am certain will be discovered soon. She will heal and she will live."

"You… you bastard," Spencer's voice warbled as he stared into Hannibal's eyes. "You sick, disgusting MMFPH-"

His words were cut off when Hannibal surged forward, capturing his lips with his own. He tried futilely to pull away. Hannibal's grip was too strong. He forced Reid's lips apart, biting and sucking roughly against his mouth, tongue tangling inside until Spencer bit down on it as hard as he could.

Blood dripped from Hannibal's mouth as he pulled back, smiling. It stained his teeth and Reid shivered at the sight. He expected to be punished for biting him, but Hannibal merely stood, running his fingers through his hair, and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"Good boy," he whispered.

Reid shivered again and closed his eyes, wishing he could will himself out of this nightmare.

* * *

"Did he say anything?" Jack leaned forward, watching the shaken young woman with steely eyes.

"Agent Crawford, maybe we should –" Clarice started to protest, but Jack cut her off, frowning.

"We're chasing a ghost right now, Starling," he said. "We need all the information we can get. I know it's hard, Miss Donovan, but anything you can give us, please…"

Maeve pressed her lips together and looked from Jack to Clarice for a moment before nodding. She was sitting in a hospital room, holding her bandaged left hand awkwardly and trying not to look down at it.

"He didn't say much," she said. "He just… he wanted Spencer to say goodbye. He said they're leaving the country."

Jack's eyes sparkled. "Did he say where?"

Maeve shook her head.

"Are you sure? Nothing? He never said anything more specific?"

"No, he didn't say much at all," Maeve insisted.

"Jack, she's been through enough tonight," Clarice stepped forward, her voice stern. Jack glanced at her and frowned like he wanted to protest, but then he nodded. Maeve wasn't going to be able to tell them much more anyway.

"If you remember anything, Miss Donavan, you make sure to let us know."

She nodded shakily, staring down at the tiles on the floor blankly as they left.

"Did you need to push her so hard?"

"We need all the information we can get, Agent Starling,"

"I understand that, Sir, but this woman was just held hostage. Her boyfriend was kidnapped and she may never see him alive again. Shouldn't we be more respectful?"

Jack frowned. "The time for respectful, Starling, is after we've caught the son of a bitch. We can be as gentle as we want then, but until we have Lecter in custody again we can't afford to be respectful."

* * *

**A/N: **For the record, I do _like _Jack's character-he's complex and interesting. He comes off as a bit of an ass in this story, but well, he can be an asshole sometimes. Anyway.

Hope you're enjoying the story! Next chapter we're moving overseas and that's where the fun really starts.

Don't forget to review!


	20. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Seven

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **As always thanks for your reviews! Hope you're all still enjoying this!

Warnings for this chapter include... well, not much. Mostly just Hannibal being his usual manipulative, creepy, fascinating self.

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

Will stared at the evidence board, his lips pressed tightly together, and tried to make some intuitive leap, tried to get inside Hannibal's head, but it was like there was a wall blocking him. His eyes, more often than not, went to the photos of Chilton's brutalized body and he tried hard not think about the fact that his lips tugged into a smile at the sight. It brought back painful memories.

"It's been weeks, Mr. Graham," Clarice somehow managed to sneak up on him. He turned to glance at her briefly. She stood, watching him, with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"Staring at that board isn't going to get you anywhere. You should go home."

He tried to think about Molly, but she was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. His thoughts were consumed with Hannibal. Memories of crime scenes, of faux therapy sessions, of meals, of conversations, of sex. Of murder.

They'd already pulled most of their patrols from Baltimore and DC; it was unlikely Hannibal had lingered long after taking Dr. Reid on his farewell visit to Maeve Donovan. He was probably long gone by now. Jack was reaching out to Interpol for help, trying to get as much attention as possible.

Hannibal had been added to the FBI's most wanted list. Not number one, much to Jack's annoyance, but number five as of that moment. Will wondered if Hannibal would consider that an honor or an insult.

"Mr. Graham?" Clarice frowned, cautiously reaching out and putting a hand on Will's shoulder.

Will jerked away from the touch, spinning around to stare at her with wild eyes. She fought the urge to stumble back and held her ground with a steady stare.

"Sorry," Will ran a hand over his tired eyes, sighing heavily. "I was just…" he trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence. What had he been doing anyway? Trying to find Lecter, or trying to relive old memories? He wasn't even sure anymore.

"Staring at the board, trying to will an answer from it?"

His lips quirked up just a bit and he nodded, "I suppose…"

She was giving him a sympathetic look, one Will resented greatly. She was young and naïve and had no clue what she was in for. She was smart and tough, but just too damn eager to prove herself. It would bite her in the ass one day, Will was certain of it. She could probably handle it – better than he did at any rate.

"Maybe you should go home," she suggested again, "Your fiancé called. Apparently you aren't answering your cell phone."

Will looked away, frowning. "Must've died," he mumbled, "I'll call her later tonight. I can't go back to Louisiana yet. Not with Hannibal still out there."

"He's probably not in the US anymore," Clarice pointed out, "It's not likely we're going to find him anytime soon. He could be anywhere. It could be years."

_Years_…

Will glanced back at the board and frowned, nodding slowly. His thoughts felt like mush, tumbling through his mind in a tangled knot. If he could just unravel them, he might be able to figure this out.

"You're right…" he said, "It's late. I'm gonna get some rest…" he brushed past her and out of the room, feeling Clarice's eyes on him the entire time.

* * *

When Will got back to his hotel room he made straight for the half-full bottle of whiskey he'd left sitting out earlier that morning. He had taken to drinking far more than he normally did on this case. He decided to forego the glass and simply upturned the bottle into his mouth, wincing as the familiar burn slid down his aching throat.

It felt good to feel something, because otherwise he felt incredibly numb.

His cell phone was where he had left it that morning, sitting beside the bed. He picked it up and saw three missed calls from Molly, a voicemail, and a text from Jack that meant absolutely nothing to him. Thinking of Jack just made his vision go red.

He went instead to his voicemail, listening as Molly's voice began trilling over the speaker:

"_This is the third time I've called you today. It's been two days since you talked to me. What's going on? There isn't anything in the news right now. You are alright aren't you? Look, I've got a couple of days off and it's summer so… I was thinking Willy and I might try to catch a flight to Virginia soon. If you're not too busy… I miss you, Will. Willy misses you – oh damn it."_

She huffed and Will tried to muster up a laugh as his eyes roved around the hotel room in boredom.

"_Your dogs are starting to become a problem you know,"_ there wasn't any venom in her voice and Will did smile then. Molly hated the dogs. She only put up with them because they were so important to Will and because Willy loved them.

"_Look, uh, just call me back, alright? I don't care if it's three in the morning, call me back. Let me know you're okay, Will. I'm worried."_

He thought about Molly, about the small house in Louisiana, about her eight year old son and how he looked up to him for some reason. About the dogs that wandered around the property, sniffing out snakes and lizards and birds. He thought about late Saturday afternoons when he'd take Willy to teach him to fish, about how Molly's nose curled when he went in for a kiss still smelling of guts. He thought about how she'd come up behind him when he'd stare out the window, trapped in bad memories, and wrap her arms around him, kiss his neck gently and pull him toward the bedroom.

Molly was good. She was sweet and soft and bright and sometimes bitchy and a damn good mom. In some ways she reminded him of Alana and that made him think of what could have been years ago if he hadn't been too unstable for Alana.

His thoughts wandered to Hannibal then, as they seemed to be doing lately.

Hannibal was not soft or gentle of kind of any of the things Molly was. He was like fire and passion and raw feeling trapped inside a human body. Hannibal was a storm that knocked out his senses until all he could feel was the lingering sense of satisfaction.

He thought about Hannibal's quick, sharp smile and the dangerous light behind his blood colored eyes. He remember the way Hannibal would watch him while he ate, remembered the ease and grace Hannibal moved with while he cooked. He remembered the rapturous look on Hannibal's face the first time he clumsily kissed him. He remembered how Hannibal would put his strong hands on his shoulders and squeeze to remind him where he was. He remembered Hannibal tugging at his hair, biting at his lips, whispering darkly into his ear.

He thought of the way Hannibal looked when he killed. He'd only seen it twice and one of those times had been when Hannibal tried to kill him. Yet he remembered the grace, the fluid, steady movements. The way his muscles twisted and bunched as he prepared himself to pounce. The look in his eyes as he captured his unwitting prey. Blood on Hannibal's hands, dark as night in the dim glow of the moon. The crackle of gravel underfoot as Hannibal had lifted his struggling victim into his trunk.

Will's stomach was in knots when he took another harsh gulp of whiskey, the fire searing down his throat making him think of Hannibal. His eyes fluttered closed and he tried to blame the pressing arousal on his earlier thoughts of Molly, but he knew he was kidding himself.

It wasn't until he forced his stiff limbs from the chair that he noticed the envelope sitting on the counter beside the small microwave. He frowned and moved toward it, discarding the post-it note from the hotel informing him that they had delivered it earlier in the afternoon when he was out.

He tore the envelope open and shook it, blinking when a neatly folded sheet of stationary tumbled into his hand. His hands didn't shake as he unfolded it, but his heart sped up and his erection pulsed tightly against his confining jeans. He knew before he read it that it was from Hannibal.

_My dearest Will,_

_I apologize for not being able to deliver this in person, but I am hoping you'll be able to rectify that situation soon. I have missed you, Will._

_Spencer is well, as I am sure you are worried about him. I do hope you were able to find Miss Donovan before she suffered too much. I hated having to harm her, but it was necessary._

_It's been too long, Will. I would very much like to see you, but of course, you'll have to find me first. You understand that I can't simply tell you where I am._

_I hear you are engaged to be married. That surprised me; I doubt she's worthy of you, Will. I doubt you even love her. In fact, Will, I very much doubt everything you do these days._

_I saw the real you, all those years ago. I know what you think about at night in the darkness. I know your darkest fantasies. You shouldn't suppress them, Will. It's not healthy and it will only lead to conflict._

_I showed you once how to embrace your true nature. I had hoped that you would be able to understand, but I didn't foresee your reaction to Abigail's death and for that I believe I've paid dearly._

_I can show you again. I'm sure you remember. You felt alive when you were with me, Will. Do you feel alive now? I doubt it. _

_Yours,_

_Hannibal Lecter_

Will continued to stare at the letter for several minutes after he'd read it. He traced the elegantly scripted words with his index finger and felt the ink smudge over his skin. He should call Jack. He should get the letter to Beverly. There could be something to let them know where Hannibal was.

There were a lot of things he _should_ do, in fact. He should call Molly and tell her to bring Willy. Tell her he loved her and missed her. He should probably come clean about everything that had transpired between him and Hannibal. He should maybe put the gun to his head and pull the trigger so he could stop the dark, dangerous thoughts that were tugging at his mind.

He didn't do any of those things, though.

Instead, he packed his suitcase, called a cab, checked out of the hotel and headed for the airport. He left his cell phone behind.

* * *

Spencer was in the throes of what appeared to be a terrible nightmare when Hannibal returned to their small flat in London. They'd only just arrived two weeks earlier, after having spent a week in Wales.

Hannibal closed the bedroom door gently so as not to wake the young man and approached him on feather-light feet.

He reached down and touched him, running his fingers over the contours of his face and down his slender throat until he reached the shoulder and squeezed just enough. He slowly knelt on the wooden floor and tangled his other hand in Spencer's hair.

"Spencer," his voice barely raised above a whisper and the young man twitched in his sleep. "It's only a dream, Spencer. Wake up. Wake up."

He tried to jolt up, but Hannibal held him in place, watching him with distant eyes as he fought to regain control of his erratic breathing. His hazel eyes were wild, darting around the room until they finally landed on Hannibal. He stared into his eyes for a long moment before lunging forward, wrapping his arms around his neck.

Hannibal nearly fell backwards, but held his balance well and easily stood, sliding Spencer's slender body over on the bed until they were both seated on the mattress.

He was still trembling, fighting back a fit of sobs and Hannibal shushed him quietly, running his fingers through his hair, tugging gently at the nape of his neck.

Several minutes passed without a word being spoken and finally, Spencer pushed himself away, closing his eyes and leaning against the headboard. Hannibal waited the space of three heartbeats before speaking.

"Another nightmare?"

"They're getting worse," Spencer's voice cracked. There was another pause and he opened his eyes, frowning, "It's your fault."

"I can hardly be blamed for your nightmares, Spencer," Hannibal stood, smiling faintly, "They were plaguing you long before you met me."

Spencer didn't say anything and Hannibal didn't really expect him to. He turned and headed toward the door, "It's time for breakfast,"

After more than three weeks as Hannibal's captive, Spencer didn't even protest about eating any longer. He'd learned to pick his battles. It wasn't as if Hannibal were chaining him up and torturing him. He was almost nice. Reid could sort of pretend, if he tried hard enough, that this was just a long needed vacation.

He wasn't tied up anymore, though there were locks on the outside of every door and he wasn't allowed outside without Hannibal right there. There was no phone in the apartment, no computer. A television was his only real way to keep in touch with the outside world.

He sat down at the table and stared at his hands while Hannibal prepared breakfast. He tried not to think about the news report he'd seen two nights ago telling him that a well respected business man had gone missing.

"You're very quiet," Hannibal observed as he sat a plate down in front of him and took a seat.

"I'm tired," Reid said, idly picking at the food. "I didn't sleep well last night."

"I could probably help you with your sleeping issues if you would let me," Hannibal told him.

"No thanks," Reid's expression turned sour as he ate, trying not to think too hard about what he was eating.

Hannibal didn't push him to talk to him at the moment, instead watching Spencer think. He was working through something, trying to get up the nerve to ask. He waited patiently and let him get there on his own.

Finally, he spoke, "How long are you going to keep this up?"

"Keep what up?"

He sighed, "This," he said, "Keeping me here. With you. Alive."

"Are you asking me when I plan to kill you?"

He shrugged, "It's the inevitable end to this… thing you're doing."

"Not necessarily," Hannibal said.

"You'll get bored," Reid countered, frowning, "I can't hold your interest forever. Once you've gotten whatever it is you want from me, you'll kill me."

"I believe you're selling yourself a bit short, Spencer," Hannibal said, "I do not find my interest held by just anyone. I can see a remarkable potential within you. You are able to understand people like me, nearly as well as Will Graham even. You have a strong sense of logic and justice."

"Justice," Reid spat, "is not exactly what I would call murdering and eating someone because they stepped on your toes."

Hannibal smiled, "Perhaps not, but neither is justice allowing a child molester to go free, defending his so called rights to fairness while his victims' suffering is ignored."

"You're saying the legal system is flawed,"

"I am saying our concepts of freedom and our ideas of fairness hamper the process of true justice."

"Freedom comes with a price," Reid countered, "If you deny one person their freedom you might as well deny everyone their freedom. It's not meant to be perfect, it's meant to be _fair_."

"You're saying that you would not forgo the rules to exact justice?"

Spencer fidgeted and slowly looked up to meet Hannibal's gaze, "What do you mean?"

"If you had the opportunity to kill someone, someone you _knew_ was a bad person, who took advantage of the weak and exploited the people around them, you wouldn't take it? And you knew they would never be punished legally?"

"I…" he faltered, "No, I wouldn't."

"I don't believe you," Hannibal said, turning his attention back to his meal.

"I don't care if you believe me," Reid snapped, "I'm not a murderer."

"You have already killed three people, Spencer," Hannibal reminded him, "by definition, you are a murderer."

"I – that was different!" Reid protested, "I had no other choice!"

"Simply because your murders were sanctioned by the United States government does not make them any less real, Spencer. And I believe you could have gotten away with merely injuring and disarming Jack Napier, had you truly wanted to."

Reid looked away, his hands shaking a bit. Hannibal smiled at him, his eyes smoldering in the early morning light.

"Get dressed," he said, as he stood and cleared away the dishes, "There is someone I want you to meet this afternoon."

Reid fumbled as he stood, frowning, "Who?"

"You will see," Hannibal said, turning away and placing the dishes in the sink, "Now go get dressed."

* * *

**A/N: **Will's chasing after Hannibal now. Things are about to get... _interesting. _

Don't forget to review!


	21. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Eight

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thank you to anyone who reviewed! I appreciate it!

Warnings for this chapter include the following: murder, threats, violence, VERY dubious consent/sexual assault, forced kissing.

Please review!

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding **

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

They took a cab to wherever it was Hannibal wanted him to go. Reid sat stiffly, his back pressed against the seat and his eyes staring out the window. Hannibal gripped his hand in his own. Reid tried to pull it away, but the fingers around his tightened in warning so he resigned himself to the silent treatment instead. Childish, but worthwhile.

He tried to follow the streets, memorizing the turns and buildings as they drove on. Left, right, stop, straight ahead for nearly twenty minutes. He hadn't seen much of London and had no real idea of where they were. He hoped that they would stay within the city, his mind formulating plans of possible escape. Even if he didn't know where to find the authorities, he could borrow a cell phone or find a payphone somewhere.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see," was Hannibal's cryptic reply.

They eventually stopped and Hannibal paid the cabbie, who only grunted in acknowledgment. Reid's body was taut as he looked around, contemplating his chances of successfully running away when Hannibal's hand gripped his bicep tightly and he steered him toward what appeared to be a large recreational building.

There was absolutely no one around for Reid to try and signal for help. Not that it would've been all that helpful. If Hannibal suspected anything he would just kill whoever Reid was trying to talk to.

Hannibal kept his fingers wrapped around his arm like a vice, dragging him through the quiet building and down dark, narrow halls. Their footsteps were muffled against the stiff carpet and Reid wondered if the place had been closed for very long. There were still flyers and bulletin boards every few feet, but also broken glass, graffiti and nearly an inch of dust.

The carpet under their feet changed to tile as they moved down into what Reid thought was a basement. Their footsteps sounded loud now as they descended a set of creaking metal stairs and walked down another narrow hall lined with several thick security doors.

They finally came to a stop at the end of the hall, Hannibal releasing his arm only momentarily to force the door open. There had been a plaque there at some point, the outline of it black against the dirty white paint.

Hannibal didn't say a word as he shoved him into the room and Reid coughed as dust wafted up. The room had been cleared of whatever had been inside before – shelves of supplies were Reid's best guess. The floor was dirty and littered with bits of paper and stained from chemicals.

He couldn't see very well in the darkness, but Hannibal soon remedied that when he flicked on the overhead light. The door shut behind them with a heavy thud and Reid slowly turned his attention to the small room.

It took him several seconds to fully register the sight. A woman was tied to a chair, her body slumped forward in unconsciousness. Her long hair was hanging in her face.

Reid's heart sped up as he spun to face Hannibal, "What is this?"

Hannibal gripped his shoulders and turned him back to face the woman, "Do you recognize her, Spencer?"

He shook his head, his mind racing. He did not want to watch Hannibal kill someone else. He still had nightmares about Chilton.

"Look closely," Hannibal whispered in his ear and Reid shuddered, closing his eyes. "What can you tell me about her?"

Reid closed his eyes and shook his head, refusing to play along with whatever sick game Hannibal had in mind. Hannibal merely tightened his grip on his shoulders.

"Spencer," he warned, "do you remember what I told you about doing as I say?"

He shuddered and his eyes opened slowly, an annoyed huff escaping past his lips. He turned his attention to the woman and really looked at her, trying to use every bit of profiling training he had to figure out what Hannibal wanted.

Her hair was messy, but only because she'd been dragged here unceremoniously. Reid could tell it had been carefully styled. It was reddish blond, but that wasn't her natural hair color – the faint traces of a lighter, purer blond lingered around the roots. She was wearing makeup, but not much, just eyeliner, mascara and a light shade of lipstick.

Her dress was wrinkled, a vibrant shadow of blue that was dulled by the stale air. Hannibal must've brought her here sometime the previous night. It was short and rode up her thighs a bit, the neckline deeper than was strictly appropriate. The fabric clung to her body, barely allowing room to breathe.

She was wearing expensive looking heels, but Reid admittedly knew very little about women's fashion. Her nails were neatly manicured, though one was chipped and another broken off entirely. She'd fought Hannibal.

Hannibal's hands slid from his shoulders and he moved toward her, grabbing her thick hair and tugging her head back so that Reid could see her face better. Reid edged backwards, glancing toward the door, but spotted the glint of a knife in Hannibal's hands and knew that he would kill this woman if he tried to run.

He found himself studying her face now that he could really see it. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were full and parted slightly, her chin round and pointed, cheeks slightly rosy and puffed out a bit as she breathed. There was something so familiar about the face… He frowned and looked past the faint age lines around her eyes and mouth, past the faintly orange tan.

He gasped as the image came to his mind, a seventeen year old girl with short blond curls and round green eyes. Lips too full for her face, painted bright red and framing perfect white teeth. A skirt pushing the limit of decency and a pink top covered by a too-large football jacket. A thin gold chain around her neck holding a heart shaped locket.

His eyes went to Hannibal, wide and confused as he stuttered, "Alexa Lisbon?"

Hannibal grinned, nodding as he let go of her hair and her head fell forward again. He stepped around her and came to a stop directly in front of Spencer.

"But… How did you even…?"

"A lucky happenstance, Spencer," Hannibal told him, "I ran into Miss Lisbon last night after I left the theater. She was with who I can only assume was her husband. He paid her little attention."

Reid's gaze skirted around Hannibal to Alexa, who was beginning to twitch a bit, her hands tugging at the ties absently.

"You just happened to run into someone I went to high school with?"

Hannibal smiled, reaching up and caressing Reid's face. He jerked from the touch, but didn't turn away entirely, clenching his hands tightly into fists.

"Some might call it fate, but I have never truly believed in fate. Coincidence is all around us and not so rare as some would have us believe."

"Mathematically it's not impossible," Reid said quietly, his eyes still on Alexa's slowly waking form, "but the odds -"

"The odds are unimportant," Hannibal stepped around again, standing just behind Reid. Reid's jaw tightened as he watched Alexa lift her head, her eyes wide as they flew open and she began struggling fiercely.

"Are you going to make me watch you kill her like you did Dr. Chilton?" Reid's voice was faint and he barely registered Alexa's squeak at his words. "You can't really think I'll be grateful to you for killing someone who hurt me twenty years ago."

"I am not going to kill her, Spencer,"

Reid frowned and turned to stare at Hannibal, meeting his eyes for a second. Hannibal reached down and grabbed his hand, pushing a small filet knife into his fingers.

"You are,"

His eyes were wide and he stared down at the knife, not registering Hannibal's words at first and instead wondering what his chances were of actually stabbing Hannibal and escaping. He blinked and his eyes jerked up to Hannibal's again.

"W-What?"

"I want you to kill her, Spencer,"

"You… I'm not going to kill an innocent woman!"

"She is hardly innocent," Hannibal said matter-of-factly. "Do not lie and tell me that you do not still think about how she hurt you."

"That was years ago!" Reid protested, "She was a teenager. I don't - "

"Either you kill her, Spencer," Hannibal said, "Or I do. She is not leaving this room alive."

Alexa whined behind them, sobbing. Reid wondered why she wasn't speaking, but didn't ask, instead staring down at the knife Hannibal had just handed him.

"What if I killed you instead?" he asked quietly.

Hannibal seemed to have expected that and suddenly Reid was spun around, something sharp pressing against his stomach and the hand holding the knife was gripped tightly in a harsh grip.

"That would be tremendously ambitious of you,"

After several shaky breaths, Reid was released and Hannibal moved lithely around him until he was standing behind Alexa, his expression expectant.

"I'm not going to kill her," Reid said, his voice shook as he held the knife in a loose grip, wanting to throw it and run away. His feet, however, seemed to be glued in place as he stared at Hannibal.

"If you don't, I will," Hannibal repeated.

"I can't kill an innocent woman," Reid whispered, "I won't."

Alexa was still sobbing, but Reid didn't look at her, deciding that looking at Hannibal was the better of two evils at the moment. She still wasn't talking or even screaming, just making strange choking noises that sounded painful.

"Do you really think she is innocent, Spencer? I know you remember what she did to you all those years ago? It was cruel. Sadistic."

"And you aren't?" Reid spat, glaring at him.

"You hated her for what she did," Hannibal said gently. Reid was beginning to wish he'd never told Hannibal about this incident. He hadn't really wanted to, but the nightmare had come unbidden not long after their arrival in Wales and he'd forced the story out of him.

"I -"

"You wanted her to suffer," Hannibal said, "to pay for what she'd put you through. Now is your chance."

"I never wanted to kill her!" Reid's voice cracked and his hands were shaking.

"Didn't you?"

"NO!"

"Do you remember how you felt that day, Spencer? Humiliated and weak and angry. She caused that, Spencer. Remember how you came home to a dissociated mother who didn't even notice you were gone?"

Reid's entire body was trembling. Hannibal's voice seemed to be threaded with some hypnotic power, sending him back to that day, to that nightmare. He was suddenly a child again, eager to be accepted and wanted. Bullied and humiliated and crying as he walked home in utter darkness, his feet bleeding by the time he got there.

"Stop…" he didn't realize his eyes were burning with tears, but Hannibal smiled at the sight.

"You wanted to make them pay for hurting you," Hannibal said, yanking hard on Alexa's hair when she let out a high pitched noise. "You wanted them to suffer."

"No," Reid shook his head, "I was… I didn't."

Hannibal let go of Alexa's hair and stepped closer to Spencer, cautious of the knife in the young man's hand. He had full confidence in his ability to overpower and disarm the skinnier man, but he would rather not get cut for his efforts.

He placed a hand on either side of Spencer's face and locked eyes with him, "You did," he said quietly, "You don't have to lie to me, Spencer. I understand."

Gently, so that Spencer was barely aware of it, he shifted and pushed him closer to the trembling woman. He pressed in behind Spencer and ran a hand down to his wrist, gripping it lightly.

Like a puppet, he lifted Spencer's arm and guided the knife toward Alexa, holding it just under her ribs. Spencer shook. He didn't push the blade in; that was Spencer's job and he was going to enjoy watching it.

But Spencer was still resistant, his hand lowering slightly once Hannibal moved back a bit.

"I'm not a killer," he said, his voice stronger than before, his hazel eyes clearing from the fog of his memories.

"She is going to die one way or another," Hannibal told him, "I will not make her demise pleasant and you will watch if I have to kill her."

A visible shudder wracked through Spencer's body.

"If you do it, you may kill her however you like," Hannibal continued, "and you won't have to deal with her pretty face haunting your nightmares anymore."

Spencer's lips pressed tightly together and he shook his head, his hands shaking badly enough that the knife nearly fell from his hands. Hannibal steadied him easier and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Spencer's neck.

"You could just let her go," he said, "She doesn't have to die."

"She will die," Hannibal repeated, "It is up to you how."

His eyes closed tightly and Hannibal stroked his hair with his free hand, enjoying the way his trembling body felt against his own. He gripped his wrist again and lifted it, smiling when Spencer's long fingers wrapped more tightly around the knife.

It happened quickly, one sharp, surprisingly powerful shove and the knife slid under the ribs and up at an angle, piercing the fluttering heart within. Spencer stumbled back quickly, nearly falling into Hannibal in his desperation to distance himself from what he'd done.

Hannibal caught him and held him, making his stand still and watch as Alexa gasped and fought with everything in her to live. She had a tenacious spirit, Hannibal would give her that much, but it did nothing to ease the profound hate he felt toward her.

The knife was still lodged inside her, blood blooming out around it and dripping into her lap. She died fairly quickly, her breaths shallow and croaked even as she tried to cling to life. Spencer was practically vibrating beneath his hands and he turned him in his arms, wrapping him in a terrible imitation of a hug.

His fingers carded through his hair and he whispered gently into his ear, his lips moving across his skin as his free hand slid down around his waist. Long fingers suddenly gripped at his suit and Spencer lifted his head, some terrible light behind his hazel eyes.

Before Hannibal realized what was happening, Spencer had shoved him back, his body still shaking his eyes full of resolve. He had no weapon now, but didn't seem to care as he lunged toward Hannibal and knocked him into the heavy steel door.

His hands fought to find anything to hurt him with, hitting him and kicking and scratching. Hannibal let him fight for a moment, slightly amused at the curses that the young man was screaming.

He remembered thinking once that when cornered, Spencer would fight. And finally he was seeing that fighting spirit once more. All the hate and anger Spencer felt toward Hannibal was leaking out in a messy, disorderly sort of rage. Hannibal would like to teach him how to control that pent up frustration.

A particularly hard blow had the coppery taste of blood exploding in his mouth and Hannibal decided enough was enough. He pushed Spencer backwards and easily gained control of his flailing limbs, holding his wrists tightly and spinning them around until Spencer was the one pinned against the cold metal of the door.

He was glaring defiantly up at Hannibal, breathing heavily. Hannibal smiled and pushed him harder, watching him carefully. After a moment of contemplation, he leaned in and roughly pressed his lips to Spencer's throat.

He could feel the pulse jumping beneath him tongue as he bit and sucked at the skin, eliciting a beautiful whimper from his captive. Spencer struggled to regain his control, trying to break free of the harsh grip.

Hannibal merely twisted his wrists and bit down harder until he tasted blood. Spencer whined and tried to kick him.

His mouth moved up, along the elegant line of Spencer's throat and across the angled jaw until he found his lips and took his mouth with a ferocity that frightened the younger man. He dominated the kiss and reveled at the combined taste of his own blood mingling with Spencer's.

It was several seconds later that Spencer finally stopped fighting and went almost entirely limp. He released his hands them and brought them up to tug at Spencer's hair, pressing his hips into Spencer's crotch and smiling sharply around the hot erection he felt through the fabric.

He moved his hands to grip the back of Spencer's neck and his lips created a path across his face to his ear, still biting and sucking against the soft skin. Spencer shivered and closed his eyes tightly, his hands coming up to push against Hannibal's chest.

"St-stop…"

"Shh," Hannibal's voice was a gruff growl and he ground harder against Spencer's hips, causing an unwelcome moan to escape his mouth.

"P-Please… I don't… Oh…" he was panting now and instead of pushing against Hannibal, he was clinging to him, biting down hard on his lip as heat swelled and knotted inside of him. His hips unconsciously moved against Hannibal's meeting them mid-thrust, his arousal aching and pulsing.

Which is when Hannibal pulled back, grinning when Spencer tried to follow him, his eyes clouded with lust. He held the young man at arm's length for a moment and then released him. Spencer stumbled and shook, wrapping his arms tightly around his own chest and looking terribly uncertain about everything.

Hannibal straightened his suit jacket and fixed his mussed hair, turning his back to Spencer to pull the knife from Miss Lisbon's quickly cooling body.

He wiped the blood away with a handkerchief and tucked it away, turning once more to face his wary prisoner. Spencer shifted under the gaze, his throat tightening visibly. He kept his eyes trained on the floor, but Hannibal could still see the erection he was trying to hide.

He gripped Spencer's elbow and guided him from the room, "It's nearly lunch time," he said, "and we wouldn't want to linger here longer than necessary."

Reid wanted to pull away from Hannibal, but his body felt like it was coming apart and his mind wasn't much better. He didn't know where to turn and Hannibal was the only thing there for him to cling to so he followed him out of the room and tried not to thinking about Alexa's choking, wordless pleas and Hannibal's rough hands on his body.

* * *

"What do you mean he's _gone_?"

Clarice stood, immobile and utterly unfazed by Jack's yell, with a frown on her face. She didn't appear to be bothered overly much by her superior screaming at her for no real reason.

"I went by his hotel room this afternoon after his fiancée called again asking about him. They said he'd checked out last night," Clarice repeated the same thing she had already told Jack.

"They let me in the room and I found his cell phone sitting on the bedside table. Everything else of his was gone."

"You don't think he could've been kidnapped?" Dr. Bloom sounded worried and Clarice turned her eyes on her for a moment. It was clear to Clarice, even if it wasn't to Dr. Bloom, exactly what had happened.

"I doubt it," she said, "there was no sign of a struggle. It's more than likely that Mr. Graham left of his own volition."

"You're saying he went home?" Jack sounded bitterly unhopeful. He knew Will hadn't gone home.

"I'm saying he left," Clarice said, "and home is probably not what he's thinking of."

"Damn it," Jack huffed, closing his eyes. "Okay," he took a deep breath. "The way I see it, we've got two possibilities here. One: Will wanted to disappear again, this time for good, so he ran. He's been drinking, ignoring Molly… it's possible. Two: he's going after Lecter. Maybe he decided to try and find him on his own, something stuck out to him…"

There was an almost desperate edge to his voice that Clarice hated to squash, but she knew she had to.

"There is a third option," she said quietly.

Jack didn't want to hear it. He'd already suspected Will Graham once and been wrong. He didn't want to think Will had actually been working with Hannibal the whole time… _Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice…_

"He could be meeting Dr. Lecter," Clarice said, "he could be going to rejoin him. He and Dr. Lecter have a complicated history. Perhaps he missed the stability that Dr. Lecter allowed him to feel."

"No," Dr. Bloom shook her head, "Hannibal didn't make Will stable, he made him _unstable._ He nearly destroyed Will's sanity."

"From our point of view," Clarice nodded, "but from what I understand Dr. Lecter manipulated Mr. Graham until he was the only person he felt he could trust. That'd be difficult to shake."

"Will isn't going running back to Hannibal like some lost animal," Dr. Bloom frowned, "he isn't." She was adamant. Clarice doubted Dr. Bloom would ever want to admit her doubts about Will Graham after what had happened the last time.

"Regardless," Jack frowned, "we need to find him. Call his wife and see if she has any clue where he might go. Track is passport and credit cards. If he got on a plane, I want to know when and where he was going."

Clarice nodded and left, hearing Dr. Bloom protesting behind the closed door as she made her way down the hall.

She tapped gently on the technical analyst's door and poked her head inside, offering Penelope a faint smile as she entered.

"Agent Starling," the woman's eyes sparkled with the tiniest bit of hope, "Anything new on my Junior G-man?"

Penelope and the rest of Dr. Reid's team had tried more than once to be allowed on the investigation. The director thought it best not to allow them access seeing how close they were to the case and in light of their recent, ethically shaky take down of Ian Doyle.

She shook her head sadly, "Nothing yet, Miss Garcia, but I do have something I need your help with. Will Graham left his hotel last night. I think he might be going to find Hannibal. Do you think there's any way you could track him to find out where he might've gone?"

"Absolutely," Garcia was eager to have anything to do involving finding Hannibal Lecter, "Does he have his cell phone?"

"He left it in the room," Clarice said, "Agent Crawford wants us to check his credit cards and passport. Find out his he purchased an airline ticket and where to."

"I'm on it," Garcia was already tapping away at her keyboard, "I'll let you know as soon as I have anything."

"Thanks," Clarice smiled, "I'll let you know when we have anything more concrete about Dr. Reid."

"You do that," Penelope said, never taking her eyes off the glowing computer screen. Clarice sighed and shut the door quietly behind her, feeling a pit of guilt in her chest and a burning curiosity to know what had changed to make Will suddenly decided to run like he had.

* * *

**A/N: **So that was... fun, right? *clears throat* Anyway.

Also, this line-"_That would be tremendously ambitious of you,"_-is stolen from BBC's _Sherlock. _Season two, episode two: "The Hounds of Baskerville". Sherlock says it to Dr. Frankland when he jokes, "I'd love to tell you, but then of course I'd have to kill you,"

If there is anyone badass enough to quote the Great Detective, it is Hannibal Lecter.

Don't forget to review!


	22. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Nine

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Sorry for the lack of update Friday; my internet was on the fritz. All's well now, thankfully. Thanks as always for the reviews and comments! Hope you're all still enjoying the story!

Warnings for this chapter include dubious consent, manipulation, violence, slight gore and murder.

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

Hannibal sat in a cushioned chair watching Spencer sleep over the top of his tablet. Or, more, accurately, watching Spencer _pretend_ to sleep. The young man had been awake for some time and was simply lying on the bed, curled into himself and staring blankly at the wall.

After nearly an hour, Hannibal was becoming annoyed at Spencer's stubborn petulance. He sat the tablet aside and leaned forward, crossing his legs and placing his elbows on his knees.

"The longer you lie there and pout, the more difficult it is going to be for you to ever get over this ridiculous sense of guilt, Spencer,"

There was a long pause before the young man spoke, his voice croaked from lack of use – it had been nearly two days since Alexa Lisbon had died. Her death had been in the news that morning, her body finally discovered by a group of teenagers. It was quickly becoming an international story: _American tourist killed in London!_

Alexa's husband was making a big deal out of the murder; he was a lawyer at a large firm in California and took full advantage of that fact now, though Hannibal was certain he was less than mournful of her death. They had had an unfaithful and loveless marriage.

"You made me kill an innocent woman,"

"We have already been over this, Spencer," Hannibal sighed, disliking how often he was having to repeat himself. Spencer was intelligent; he should not have such difficulty grasping this concept.

"She was far from innocent and what she did to you was tantamount to torture. She did not grow into a better person over the years. Her life meant very little."

"Every life means something,"

"Alexa's did not," Hannibal said simply. He stood and lifted his jacket from where it was hanging on a hook behind the door.

"I will be back shortly," he said, "I expect you to be out of bed when I return."

* * *

Spencer was out of bed when Hannibal returned, but he still appeared distant. He was sitting in a chair in the kitchen and looked up expectantly whenever Hannibal unlocked the door and entered.

He smiled when he saw the younger man, but Spencer didn't return the expression. His hazel eyes were dull, his fingers clutched tightly at the fabric around his knees.

Hannibal nodded in greeting and deposited his groceries on the counter, sliding his jacket from his shoulders and rolling up his sleeves to begin preparing their dinner.

"We will be leaving tomorrow," he said lightly, glancing over at Spencer.

"Why?"

"With the attention that Alexa's murder is gaining it will not do either of us any good to stay here. She can be tied directly to your past, Spencer. Discovery is inevitable the longer we remain."

Spencer's lips twisted and he shrugged, nodding slowly.

"Of course," he said. "Where are we going?"

Hannibal seemed to ponder answer the question and then decided it was only fair to let Spencer know where he would be. In the highly unlikely event of his escape, Hannibal had multiple contingency plans in place to assure his freedom remain intact.

"I would prefer not to be move around quite so much," Hannibal said, "I'm more content to remain in one place. I haven't been to Italy in many years and Florence was always a favorite of mine."

Even with his back to him, Hannibal could tell Spencer was thinking, gauging his chances of escape before and after arrival in Florence. His odds were higher if he managed to get away before they departed. He would be prepared for any attempt at flight, though he would much rather not punish Spencer when things were going so well.

"You want something more permanent," Spencer said slowly. "New identity, new job… What are you going to do with me? I'm not going to be easy to hide if you're trying to create a new life for yourself. It'll be difficult to recreate the active social life you had before with a prisoner locked in your basement."

"I would never lock you in the basement, Spencer," Hannibal chided.

"Unless I made you angry," Spencer muttered. Hannibal smiled. That was something Will would have said. The angrier Spencer became, the more like Will he seemed to be.

"I would prefer other methods of punishment," Hannibal said, "but I suppose there is the possibility that you would anger me enough to force me to resort to locking you away. For a short while."

There was silence for several minutes while Hannibal cleaned and chopped vegetables and Spencer watched him with a distant look on his face.

"I didn't get to say goodbye…" he whispered.

Hannibal paused, turning to look at him with a curious expression on his face.

"My mom," Spencer clarified, "I… You took me to say goodbye to Maeve, but my mom is probably worried sick about me. I wrote her every day…"

Hannibal studied Spencer's wistful expression. He said nothing and they ate breakfast in silence, Spencer seeming to pull more into himself as the minutes ticked by. He helped Hannibal wash dishes until Hannibal finally directed him to sit down at the table again.

He left him alone in the kitchen for a few moments and Spencer frowned, turning slightly in his chair.

"What's going on?"

Instead of answering, Hannibal sat a fresh sheet of stationary down in front of him and handed him a pen.

He watched with an amused smile as Spencer looked from the pen to Hannibal, frowning. "What's this for?"

"You said you did not get to say goodbye to your mother," Hannibal said, "I assumed you would want to write her. She would probably appreciate hearing from you."

Slowly, Spencer nodded and pulled the cap from the pen, turning in the chair and beginning to write. Hannibal smiled and turned to leave Spencer to his letter when he called out, his voice timid and quiet,

"W-Wait…"

Hannibal raised a brow and tilted his head to face him.

"Thank you…"

* * *

Will expected there to be some sense of tension, some fear bubbling up in his chest whenever he got on the airplane, but there was nothing but a strange sense of freedom. He felt, for the first time in years, like he had something to really look forward to.

It sounded terrible when he thought about it. He had a good life, discounting everything that had to do with Jack Crawford. He had a fiancée who loved him, who worried about him and who had never minded his aversion to eye contact, his more than occasional nightmares or the fact that sometimes he just sat in the living room with the dogs, staring at the wall. He had a soon-to-be stepson who liked him and let him take him fishing, who watched with shining eyes as he fixed old boat motors and who enjoyed looking after his strays almost as much as he did.

But Hannibal's letter swam in his mind and he had to admit that he hadn't truly felt alive in a while. He'd felt content, he'd felt _okay_. Safe, for sure. But not alive, not happy. He didn't feel much like he had anything to live for at all.

Until now at least.

He wasn't sure exactly where he was going, but he knew exactly what he was searching for. Hannibal was in Europe, he knew that much for sure. There was a lot of ground to cover, but he was positive that Hannibal wouldn't have invited him to find him if he didn't know the answer somewhere.

Hannibal had talked about his travels extensively. He'd enjoyed Paris and Florence and had wanted to take Will with him to revisit them one day. Will decided he would start with Paris, and keep an eye on the news. He was certain he would spot Hannibal's work no matter how well disguised it was.

He found a strange sort of freedom in being in an unfamiliar city with an unfamiliar language and a fake ID and hardly any money to his name.

He wandered around Paris for most of the day, looking less like a tourist and more like a lost homeless person. He eventually managed to find a hotel and that night he went to bed with dreams of blood and murder, forgetting to think about the family he had left behind.

* * *

Jack Crawford was sitting in his office, fingers pressed against his temples, when Derek Morgan burst in. He jerked upright in his seat and frowned, "Agent Morgan what –"

"They're in London," Morgan cut him off, throwing a printout onto Jack's desk over the crime scene photos that littered the surface. Jack glanced down at it and frowned, picking it up gingerly.

"A tourist was killed and you think it was Lecter?"

"_Alexa Lisbon_ was killed," Morgan said, "She knew Reid. They went to high school together. She – Reid told me about her a while back."

Jack raised a brow and studied the printout more closely, "This doesn't seem like one of his kills,"

Morgan frowned, "Do you really think he'd be stupid enough to kill the way the FBI knows he does?"

"No organs were taken,"

"Not from her," Morgan said, "but I had Garcia do some digging. They found a body two days before Alexa's murder. Missing the heart and liver."

Jack frowned, "I'll call Scotland Yard,"

* * *

"No, look, there's nothing to tell," the Detective Inspector on the other end of the phone sounded exhausted. "We've had our best men at this crime scene and the best we can tell you is that she died from a single stab wound to the heart. It went under the ribs. She died fast, if that's any consolation."

"No torture?" Jack frowned, "And you're sure nothing is missing from the body?"

"There was something strange… As far as we can tell, her vocal cords were cut before she was killed. Clean job, too, whoever did it knew what he was doing. We figured it was so she wouldn't scream, but that's the only weird thing. We even brought in a consultant on the case, the best there is. All he told us is that he is absolutely sure that Hannibal Lecter did not kill Alexa Lisbon."

Jack pursed his lips, "A consultant?"

"Sort of a… private investigator," the DI said, "We bring him in on a lot of cases. According to him, whoever killed Alexa wanted it over quickly. He knew where to stab to make her death quick. He wasn't physically strong; the knife went under the ribs instead of through them."

Jack frowned, glancing down at the copy of the report they had emailed him a few hours ago. He ran through what Agent Morgan had told him about Alexa Lisbon and her relationship with Spencer Reid in high school.

"Thank you, Detective Inspector;" he said slowly, "I appreciate the cooperation. If you get any new leads would you mind emailing them to me?"

He hung up still thinking about Spencer Reid and Alexa Lisbon and left to go try and talk the Director into letting them send a team to London just in case. Thus far, they had left the matter in the hands of Interpol and Jack felt constricted and useless. He wanted _his _people in London making sure that every possible lead was followed.

* * *

The first night in Florence was a bad one for Reid. He dreamt of Alexa Lisbon, feeling her clawed fingers scratching at his throat, ripping the skin from his body. He didn't feel the pain though, just the intense sensation of tugging.

She ever said a word, never scream, just made painful, guttural sounds and stared with accusing eyes at him. Her midsection opened up and blood and organs toppled out, falling on top of him.

Then Hannibal was there, cooing at him gently and feeding him bits of Alexa's organs while the woman continued to claw at him and screech unintelligibly.

He jerked awake to the sound of Hannibal shushing him. He didn't pull away from the firm fingers in his hair and barely registered the fact that he was sliding closer to Hannibal in his desperation for some sort of human contact.

He missed the sharp smile on Hannibal's lips when he shuddered out a sob and buried his face in Hannibal's shirt.

"I want to go _home_," he said, his voice sounded childish and choked.

Hannibal just continued petting his hair, "That is not possible, Spencer,"

"I know," he sounded resigned, desperately sad. "That doesn't mean I don't want to go though."

Hannibal grasped his chin and tilted his face toward his, looking directly into his eyes, "This does not have to be a terrible experience, Spencer," he said gently, "It is what you make of it."

"You expect me to be someone I'm not," Spencer said gently, "I'm not Will and I'm not you and I really don't know what you want from me anymore."

"I am not expecting you to be anyone but yourself," Hannibal pulled him closer until the thin young man was practically sitting on Hannibal's lap. "You hide your emotions deep inside yourself, Spencer, and wait for them to explode. You need to release them."

Reid didn't look up at him, tugging his face away and pressing his forehead into the crook of Hannibal's throat.

"You want me to 'release my emotions' by committing murder," he said, "I'm not a killer."

"You have killed four people," Hannibal said, "You are a killer."

Reid's fingers knotted into the fabric of Hannibal's jacket, "You're a bastard," he said, the words twisted and clipped. He sounded very un-Reid-like.

Hannibal ignored the comment, "You're letting societal conventions keep you from doing something that would help you,"

"Killing people will help me?" Reid asked, glancing up at him with a skeptical frown, "That's your theory?"

Hannibal was quiet for a moment, his fingers threading through Spencer's hair contentedly. "Tell me something, Spencer, when you saw your father's body, how did you feel?"

Reid's stomach lurched at the thought and he shifted under Hannibal's hands.

"Sick," he said.

"And?"

"And what?" Reid frowned, "My father was brutally murdered. I didn't miss him, but I wasn't _happy _he was dead."

"Spencer…"

Spencer sighed, closing his eyes, "Guilty… If I'd never told you about him, my dad would still be alive."

"And?"

There was a long moment of silence before Reid spoke again, "And… relieved…? I… it felt like there was this weight lifted. Like what he did didn't matter anymore."

"Precisely,"

"That doesn't mean I want to solve my problems by killing people who hurt me," Reid was quick to add.

"Perhaps not everyone," Hannibal conceded, "but that does not mean you should allow old hurts to haunt you, Spencer. Alexa Lisbon was only one of many people who mistreated you greatly."

"Killing them isn't going to make my bad memories hurt less," Reid said quietly. "It'll just mean people are dead."

"I assure you, Spencer, though it will not change what happened, it will indeed make you feel better. You will have faced childhood demons."

Reid shook his head, "Taking someone's life wouldn't change anything and it wouldn't make me feel any better."

Hannibal hesitated. Reid could feel the hesitation in the way Hannibal took in a sharp breath. He pushed himself up and slid back, meeting his captor's eyes.

"Dr. Lecter?" his voice was timid and Hannibal smiled softly. He pulled Spencer's face to him, pressing a kiss to his lips. Reid didn't fight; it was a quick, soft kiss.

"Do you remember Spencer when I told you that my sister was murdered?"

Reid blinked, frowning. "Of course,"

He nodded and moved them around on the bed so that Spencer was sitting next him, Hannibal's arm draped possessively around his shoulder.

"We were very young," he said, his eyes far off and seeing something that looked nothing like the warm, small bedroom they were in.

"It was the dead of winter and we were very cold…"

* * *

Paris was a bust. Will spent several weeks there, following the news. Hannibal was being very careful about his kills, but Will still spotted them. Two bodies in England and one in Wales. Organs missing in all three cases.

He didn't usually kill with such frequency, but then again Will was only truly familiar with the Ripper's kills and Hannibal had likely killed under dozens of other aliases.

By the time he arrived in London, Hannibal was gone. There was a high profile tourist murder that had gained more attention than he was sure Hannibal would want to be caught up in.

He stuck around for a few days, but didn't want to linger too long. He caught the next flight he could to Italy. He had no real reason for going there other than the fact that Hannibal had said many times that he enjoyed the city. He hoped he would be lucky enough to catch Hannibal before he fled again.

* * *

"Reassigning me?!" Clarice stuttered, her eyes wide as she stared at Jack. "What about the Lecter case?"

Jack sighed, "It's been three months," he said, "You're young. This is – was – a very high profile case, Starling. The Director is worried that you were moved up too quickly."

"With all due respect, Sir -"

"With all due respect," Jack cut her off, "Agents are usually required years of field work experience before they make it into the BAU. Consider yourself lucky we let you work the case for this long."

Her eyes blazed as she stared at him, "I am the only person left here who Lecter had any sort of real connection with," she said, "You can't expect me to just stand down!"

"The case is being put on the back-burner until we get new leads," Jack said, "We don't have anything for you to look at in any case. I'm sorry, Starling, but there's nothing I can do. Rules are rules."

Her jaw twitched, "You've already pushed the rules where I'm concerned, Agent Crawford," she said his name sharply, with a hint of the disdain she was feeling.

Jack sighed, "I did," he nodded, "and I shouldn't have. This is the Director trying to correct that."

Clarice glared at him for a long moment, trying to think of something to say that would change the situation. There was nothing.

"Where am I being reassigned to?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"Missing Persons," Jack stood, "That's the best I could do for you." He stood and opened the door, motioning for her to exit before him.

She did so, fuming, and didn't look back whenever Jack tried to say goodbye. Her hands were balled into fists at her side and her hair swished behind her as she moved. Jack sighed heavily and shook his head. A familiar pang of guilt hit him in the chest, but he didn't let it bother him.

At least Starling was still alive.

* * *

"I would like to take you out tomorrow evening," Hannibal said over dinner one night, glancing up at Spencer. The younger man had been more talkative since Hannibal had told him about his sister and what he had done to her murderers.

Of course he was still adamantly against killing anyone, but Hannibal knew he could change that given time.

Reid seemed surprised by the offer, his brows arching over his eyes.

"You would trust me outside?"

"Of course," Hannibal nodded, "You would be by my side the entire time, obviously, but I believe you have earned at least one night out."

He smiled a bit, nodding slowly, "Okay," he said, "I… I would appreciate it."

"Then it's settled. I'll need to make a brief trip tonight. Will you be alright by yourself for a few hours?"

Reid frowned, resenting the implication that he couldn't take care of himself.

"Of course I will!"

Hannibal nodded and turned the conversation to something more pleasant – a discussion on Isaac Asimov – for the remainder of dinner. Spencer went to the bedroom before he left and curled on the bed, writing another letter to his mother.

He didn't write every day, but he did write as often as possible. Hannibal had left him pencils and paper as long as Spencer didn't try to attack him with them. Considering the pencils weren't reliable weapons and Spencer didn't want to risk losing the privilege to write his mother, he was careful not to.

He heard Hannibal leave and tried not to think too hard about what errand he would have to run so late at night. It was easier if he didn't think about it.

Hannibal had been extremely kind since they'd arrived in Florence. He never brought up Alexa and rarely prodded him too hard about his past. He would, of course, occasionally ask about his childhood, but Reid was starting to feel less awkward about talking to him about it.

He was there whenever Spencer had a nightmare and made sure he got back to sleep easily, often holding him – even when Spencer protested – until he drifted away again. Sometimes Reid thought he might be drugging his food to help him sleep, but he never confronted him about it. After a while he decided that it might have been Hannibal's way of taking care of him.

He still kissed him and touched him and eventually Reid just stopped fighting that; Hannibal let him shower in privacy and never took things beyond touching. Reid _had_ confronted him about that and Hannibal merely told him that he wanted Reid to accept him; he had no intentions of raping him, in spite of his not-quite-welcome advances.

Reid was starting to wonder if Hannibal might not have been as cold and evil as he'd originally thought. He remembered conversations while Dr. Lecter had been in Baltimore, remembered the emotion in his voice when he talked about his sister or about Will, or even about him sometimes.

He hated to admit it, because it felt so horribly wrong, but he was starting to _understand_ Hannibal, to understand why he did what he did, why he had become a killer.

Hannibal had only been gone for twenty minutes whenever Reid heard the door open again. He frowned and slid off the bed, edging his way out into the hall with nervous eyes. He was sure Hannibal shouldn't have been back yet.

Something crashed in the kitchen and he knew that Hannibal wasn't back.

For a moment, he was frozen at the entrance to the kitchen, his mind unsure of what to do. The door was unlocked now. Hannibal wasn't there to stop him. He could run and probably make it to the authorities before Hannibal even knew he was gone.

But he couldn't help but think that Hannibal would be _upset_ if he came back and he was gone. Why he cared what Hannibal felt was irrelevant.

He teetered in the hall, between escape and confronting the burglar, but the decision was made seconds later whenever the man came out of the kitchen holding a gun.

The shot very narrowly missed Spencer's head as he ducked and ran toward the living room, his eyes searching for anything at all to use as a weapon. Hannibal had been drawing earlier and his pencils and scalpel were still sitting on the coffee table.

Just before the man entered the living room, Spencer snatched the scalpel and spun, hiding beside the door and listening to the heavy footfalls. When the man came across the threshold, Spencer shoved the knife into his neck, pushing it as far inside as he could.

Blood spurted everywhere and the man stumbled, clutching at the scalpel and yanking it out. It only made it bleed more, blood started to gush out of the hole at an alarming rate, splattered Spencer and the carpet in turn.

Reid just stood there, eyes wide, and stared at the man as he fell and twitched on the ground. His mind was a roaring cascade of sound and feelings. He stood perfectly still, barely registering the blood, and his breathing was calm and even.

"Spencer?"

He looked up at Hannibal's familiar voice and suddenly felt sick. There was blood everywhere and he didn't want Hannibal to be upset about the mess, especially not after just offering to let him go outside.

He didn't even see Hannibal enter the living room and only became aware of his presence when the older man put two, steady hands on either side of his face, searching his eyes. Spencer blinked several times and then threw his arms around Hannibal, starting to tremble just a bit.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't… He had a gun and then I saw the knife -"

"Shh," Hannibal pushed his hair back from his face, "Spencer, it's alright. I'm not worried about him. Are you alright?"

Reid stared at him for a long, tense moment. Swirling in the back of his mind was the thought that he should be very, very bothered by how calm Hannibal was. That he should not be clinging to Hannibal like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

But Hannibal cared about him. He let him write his mother. He understood him and he understood pain. He might not be the best at expressing that, but Reid just knew that everything Hannibal had done was to help him, misguided or not.

"I'm…" he glanced down at the body, suddenly realizing that he had _killed_ that man. Maybe Hannibal was right… Maybe he was a killer.

"I'm okay…" the words were choked. "I… I'm okay." He repeated them just to make them truer. Hannibal was watching him carefully, his expression placid and calm and suddenly Spencer didn't care that this man was a murderer, or that other people called him a monster because he had just taken someone's life and Hannibal still held him close and asked how he was.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Hannibal's, unaware that he was smearing blood all over the other man or that he'd already ruined Hannibal's suit with his bloody hands and clothes.

Hannibal didn't seem to mind, licking at the blood and gripping Spencer's hair tightly between his fingers, a small, sharp smile gracing his lips as he carefully led the young man to the bedroom.

Spencer never thought to wonder why Hannibal, who was always so careful about leaving possible weapons lying around, had left his scalpel sitting out when he'd left.

* * *

**A/N: **Lestrade and Sherlock totally got a teeny little cameo. It's my story. I can do what I want.

Head's up, guys: the VERY dubious consent continues next chapter with some lovely rough sex. Be prepared.

Don't forget to review!


	23. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Ten

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Sorry for the lack of updates! I left for Georgia Friday night and was gone until Sunday-helping my cousin with her wedding. And when I tried Monday and yesterday to post but FF would not let me log on. Anyone else have issues these last couple of days? Or is it just me?

Anyway. Here's the belated chapter! And don't worry, I'm still gonna update again Friday so, hey, you won't have to wait too long for the next chapter!

Warnings for this part include: dubious consent, rough sex and gore.

Don't forget to review!

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

Blood was pounding in Spencer's ears and he wasn't sure exactly what to expect, but whatever he had been expecting it certainly wasn't for Hannibal to shove him against the bedroom door with enough force to bruise before possessively claiming his mouth.

The kiss was all teeth and tongue and hard and painful. Reid could taste blood and he wasn't even sure if it was his or the dead man's lying just a few feet away, cooling on the living room floor.

He felt Hannibal's hands - rough and firm and _painful_ – gripping him, holding him tight as his hips pressed him against the door.

Flashes of a suppressed memory, the dream from so long ago it felt unreal, came unbidden to Reid's mind and for a moment he thought Hannibal must be able to read his thoughts. How else could he possibly know exactly what Spencer had dreamed?

Desperate for something to do with his hands, he tore at Hannibal's clothing, conscious thought long dismissed in lieu of adrenaline and a sea of rushing endorphins, riding a high that felt impossibly delicious.

His fingers stained the expensive fabric where he tugged at it, popping buttons and ripping cloth in his eagerness to get the shirt off. Hannibal didn't seem to mind, his lips turned up in a vaguely amused smile as he began to work Spencer's clothes off as well – albeit, in a much more controlled and neat manner.

He had no idea how Hannibal's breathing could be so _even_. In spite of everything, Hannibal was perfectly in control. The only hint that he was even remotely affected by what was happening was the slightly blow pupils of his red, red eyes.

His eyes made Spencer think of blood and thinking of blood made him think of the dead man and he didn't want to think about the dead man so he tangled his fingers in Hannibal's impossibly perfect hair and yanked him forward without a single thought, crushing their mouths together in a surprising display of dominance.

He wasn't a match for Hannibal physically, but what he lacked in strength he made up for in tenacity, his movements quick and jerky and nearly desperate. His long fingers left trails of sticky blood down Hannibal's torso as he threw his head back and pressed his hips into Hannibal's groin.

Hannibal couldn't resist the slender, pale throat laid bare before him and immediately swooped down to claim it, licking and biting – gingerly at first, giving Spencer a moment to register what was happening, before biting down with enough force to tear skin, his mouth flooding with blood.

Spencer grimaced, pain flaring in his throat and he let out a whining keen, pressing his hips more eagerly into Hannibal, grinding against him with surprising ferocity. He clutched at Hannibal's shoulders, his fingers leaving indentions but not pressing hard enough to bruise.

Neither spoke for the longest time, their bodies pressing together, mingling blood and sweat and heat. It felt so good, so real that Spencer could almost let himself forget that the man pinning him to the door was a cannibal. He could almost tell himself this was someone he really cared about.

Hannibal's tongue lapped roughly at the bite on his neck, his hands suddenly gripping Spencer's side and pressing his hips into the door to stop their jerky thrusting. Reid moaned and tilted his head up, his vision foggy as he tried to find Hannibal's face, his hands shaking as he reached up to tug at his hair.

"P-Please…" the word shook as it left his mouth, "I c-can't… I don't…" he was having trouble remembering how sentences worked and Hannibal smirked against his throat, pulling back and giving Spencer a careful, calculated look before pressing his lips together, the blood shining on his mouth like rubies.

Before Spencer could react, he was suddenly pulled away from the door and half-carried all the way to the bed. He landed with an "Oof!", the wind knocked out of him. Before he had a chance to recover, Hannibal was looming over him, his touches more gentle, but still hard and firm.

He squirmed beneath him and met his eyes, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He laced his fingers over the back of Hannibal's neck and pulled him down, closing their mouths together once more while Hannibal reached down and grasped him between his legs roughly, fingers hot and harsh against his pulsing, hard member.

He let out a choked gasp and canted his hips forward, wanting more contact, more touches. His ribcage puffed out dangerously as he fought to suck down enough air and as Hannibal's tongue snaked across his jaw, down his neck and over his chest, Reid thought maybe it wasn't so bad that he'd been kidnapped after all.

* * *

Hannibal allowed himself only a brief moment of rest as he lay in bed beside Spencer, watching his reddened chest rise and fall gently. There were welts and newly forming bruises and bite marks littering the young man's body. His marks.

His chest swelled with pride at the thought and he ran a hand softly through Spencer's sweat damped curls. He was covered in the other man's blood – they both were at this point – and it was staining the sheets, but they would have to be changed anyway, so Hannibal decided not to worry about that.

He studied a bite mark on Spencer's thigh that was still oozing blood slightly and smirked. He had not been gentle with his Spencer. He probably should have been; it was, after all, their first time truly together. But Spencer had been glistening with blood and so wide eyed and desperate and _wanting_.

It had taken quite a lot for Hannibal to maintain his control at all.

He was surprised at just how receptive Spencer had been. Will had never been that receptive to some of Hannibal's more violent sexual appetites. Then again, Will had always preferred to maintain at least some allusion of control, no matter how tenuous. He'd never minded the biting, but he hated being held down.

He finally got up and winced as he did. His body was sore and stiff, but in a deliciously wonderful sort of way. He padded across the bedroom to the shower and made quick work of scrubbing the blood and other fluids away.

He was surprised to find a couple of newly forming bruises on himself – around his thighs and on his shoulders. Spencer had a stronger grip than he had thought.

He did not get dressed immediately, thinking it best not to ruin another suit. He passed Spencer's still sleeping form and went out to the body in the den.

Eyeing it with distaste, Hannibal kicked the corpse over and knelt, touching it carefully. Still warm, though cooling faster than he would have liked. He couldn't let it sit out any longer. He went to the kitchen to retrieve a knife from the locked drawer and began carving the man up, picking his insides apart with a clinical eye.

As he tugged the stomach free of its home, he decided that Spencer would have to help with the organ removal and clean up next time. It would do no good for Hannibal to continue cleaning up his messes.

And next time, Spencer would not be forced into so indelicately. He would participate fully, as Will had – if only once. Hannibal debated about letting Spencer chose his first true victim or choosing for him to take some of the burden away.

He still hadn't made his mind up as he carried the now disemboweled body to the walk-in freezer where the organs were stored. He set about cleaning up the blood and that took him hours longer. There was nothing to be done about the carpet – it would have to come up. But the walls would be fine for the moment, though perhaps a fresh coat of paint later wouldn't hurt.

By the time he had finished, with only the body left to be rid of, the sun was peaking through the curtains. He was still naked and aching more than he had been earlier. Huffing, Hannibal put away his cleaning supplies and dressed quickly, making a face at his still messy hair.

He carefully combed it before returning to the freezer and retrieving the body once more. It was contained within a large, thick bag. He hefted the body with practiced ease and carried it out to the car, grateful that he'd finished the cleanup inside before the sun could truly be up; it would not do to be spotted now.

Making sure that the door was once more locked behind him, Hannibal left the small house with a self-satisfied smile on his face, thinking of how much progress he was finally making with Spencer.

* * *

Will had expected Florence to be much the same as Paris: days of wandering, scouring news articles and listening to local chatter. He hoped to find something this time around, of course, but he assumed it would take him a while. At least a week.

Which is why whenever he spotted his former psychiatrist, dressed impeccably in a three piece suit as always, he thought he was hallucinating again. When he saw him casually stop to chat with a man on the street, he was almost sure he was imagining things. But when he caught just the faintest hints of Hannibal's smile – sharp, predatory and dark – he knew he wasn't.

Without too much thought, Will weaved his way through the morning crowd, passing people on bikes and on foot, trying not to shove tourists out of the way. He opened his mouth to call out to him, but thought better of that. Neither of them wanted to have attention drawn to them at the moment.

He was grateful for Hannibal's somewhat leisurely pace, but he did eventually lose sight of him. There were so many people in Florence – more than Will had expected to see. He finally came to the spot where he was certain he'd spotted the doctor and frowned, slowly spinning around and trying to catch sight of him again.

It was when his back was turned-his eyes squinting toward a small tourist shop where a man dressed remarkably similar to Hannibal was peering into a window-that the hairs on the back of Will's neck stood on end.

"William," his voice was smooth and slightly amused, "What a surprise running into you here,"

* * *

Clarice swiped at a stray strand of hair and stared at the laptop before her. She had been doing so for the past ten minutes, trying to will herself into motion. She knew that this case was important too – every case was, even the small ones that were just a missing socialite who had disappeared at a club in New York was probably off drunk somewhere and would turn up eventually.

But she couldn't shake the Lecter case from her mind, or Will Graham's sudden disappearance. She wanted to be on the field, not stuck at some desk, staring at a computer trying to prove that she was worthy of the BAU.

How was she even supposed to prove she could do the job while sitting at a desk anyway?

She was absently tapping at the keys on the keyboard, skimming through the missing person's report the girl's mother had made, claiming kidnapping. Clarice doubted that very much. Rich as she was, the girl was known for running off and her car and keys were missing too.

She sighed and searched for the surveillance videos, scowling when she realized there were none; the club had no security cameras in its parking lot. This whole matter could've been solved with those cameras.

Annoyed and angry now, Clarice didn't hear Agent Jareau behind her until the blond tapped her on the shoulder.

"Agent Starling,"

She blinked and turned around, smiling at bit at the familiar face, "Agent Jareau, I didn't expect to see you here,"

"It's about the Lecter case," JJ said, "I think we might have something. At least I hope we do. Garcia called Reid's mom last night to update her about the case and Diana said she'd been getting letters from Reid. Five or six so far."

Clarice's eyes sparkled and she sat up straighter, listening intently now.

"We'll have to hand them over to Agent Crawford," JJ said, "and if our team handles it things could get complicated."

"…But Agent Crawford isn't keeping you as in the loop as you want," Clarice nodded, following.

JJ smiled, "Exactly. So… We thought you'd like to get the letters. Fly to Vegas and pick them up so we don't risk anything happening to them if they're mailed in. You can get them directly to Price and Katz in the lab before handing them over to Jack."

Clarice thought about it for a moment and nodded slowly, "I would be happy to, Agent Jareau,"

* * *

Whenever they arrived back at the apartment, Hannibal was surprised to find that Spencer had already been up, showered, change the seats, dressed, eaten and gone back to sleep. He was curled in on himself on top of the blankets.

He stood in the doorway to the bedroom for a moment, smiling fondly at the sleeping man.

"You had sex with him," Will said, peering over his shoulder and into the room. Hannibal's smile grew broader and he nodded.

"You sound surprised,"

"I'm _surprised_ that he seems so calm," Will snapped, frowning.

Hannibal raised a brow, "You expected sex with me would unnerve him?"

Will scowled then, glaring at Hannibal was they moved away from the bedroom, "You know what I meant," he said.

"You thought I would rape him?"

"I wasn't expecting him to _let_ you have sex with him," Will muttered.

"Why does it surprise you that he would give his consent? You did,"

"He's smarter than me," Will said absently, moving toward the living room. He glanced back at Hannibal curiously, "I don't even want to know what you did to get him to have sex with you."

At Hannibal's questioning look, Will elaborated, "You're a manipulative bastard,"

Hannibal accepted the comment with a small, amused smile and nodded. It was true, after all, and he'd always found Will's biting honesty refreshing.

"Who died?" Will asked, walking into the living room and staring down at the poorly cleaned carpet. Hannibal sighed heavily and moved to stand beside the other man.

"No one important,"

"Never figured you one to kill in your home…" Will mumbled. "Aside from that time you tried to kill me at least."

"I didn't kill the man," Hannibal said, "Spencer did."

Will did a double take, staring incredulously at Hannibal. His throat convulsed and his lips tightened.

"You'll never change,"

"It is very doubtful," Hannibal nodded, "but you didn't come all the way to Italy simply to talk to me about my… unpleasant nature. Tell me Will, do I have to worry about Jack Crawford and army of Italian police breaking down my door?"

Will's laugh was bitter, "You really think I'd come all this way to arrest you again?"

"You seemed intent enough on having me locked away before," Hannibal said, "I have to be sure."

"You tried to kill me," Will snapped, "I was just a little bit pissed off."

"My apologies," Hannibal said, "You know I never wanted to kill you; you forced my hand, Will, calling Jack Crawford to arrest me."

"You kill Abigail and you were going to frame me for her murder," Will's voice shook and he was still staring down at the not-quite-cleaned away blood stain on the carpet.

Hannibal studied him closely, taking in the hard set of his jaw, the slightly askew glasses, the tightly clenched fists. The terrible scars. He wanted to touch them, but he had to wait. He had to figure out exactly where Will stood in everything. His fingers twitched at his side.

"Do you hate me, Will?"

"I try,"

"But?" Hannibal raised a brow and Will's hand shot to his face, pressing against his eyes and tugging at his messy hair.

"But… God, I miss you…"

Hannibal smiled and leaned forward, placing a hand at the back of Will's neck and squeezing. Will shivered under the touch, but didn't look up.

"I've missed you too, Dear Will," he said gently, "You know I never meant to hurt you."

Will's lips tugged up into a sarcastic smile, "Yes you did, you liar," he snapped. Then he leaned back into Hannibal's touch and lifted his head, meeting Hannibal's gaze for just a brief moment.

"And the sick part is I don't even care…"

Hannibal drew Will to him then, pressing him into his chest and wrapping in a tight embrace. Will sank into, a heavy, resigned sigh passing his lips before he buried his face in Hannibal's jacket and whispered, barely loud enough to be heard,

"I want to stay with you, Hannibal…"

Hannibal grinned and cradled Will's head, humming slightly, "Of course, William. You know I would want nothing more than to have you by my side."

* * *

Reid woke for the second time that morning slowly. He was still alone in the bedroom and still incredibly sore, but he could hear voices floating in from the kitchen and he sat up gingerly, trying not to groan.

Everything hurt. He was stiff and his body cried out against even the smallest of movements. He stumbled his way out of bed, glad he'd already gotten dressed because he wasn't sure that he would be able to properly dress himself the way he felt at that moment.

His feet dragged along the carpet and he glanced at the digital clock, surprised that it nearly noon and Hannibal hadn't tried to wake him.

The sound of voices caught his attention again and he shuffled his way toward them, wondering who Hannibal had brought home. Whoever they were, Hannibal didn't care if they saw Reid because the bedroom door had been left unlocked, something Hannibal would never have done.

It suddenly occurred to him that this could be another victim that Hannibal wanted him to help him kill and his gut clenched. His hands shook a bit as he remembered the night before, but a glanced toward the living room told him that the body and most of the evidence had already been cleaned away.

As he got closer, the voices became distinct, one the carefully enunciated accent of Hannibal and the other faintly familiar, though Reid's sleep fuzzy mind wasn't entirely sure where he'd heard it before.

"I wouldn't call it running away,"

"That is certainly what it seemed like,"

"I was just…"

"Running away,"

There was a simmering silence that lasted until Reid managed to stumble his way into the kitchen. Hannibal was seated with his back to him, but appeared to have noticed his entrance first.

"Ah, good morning, Spencer," he said gently, turning just slightly to smile at the young man.

Reid didn't really hear him though, too busy staring at the brutally mutilated but still incredibly familiar face. His eyes were wide as he took in Will's appearance, tracing the lines of the scars. The last time Reid had seen him, Will had been thoroughly bandaged and hardly able to communicate.

All things considered, he didn't look as bad as he could have.

But what was he doing _here?_

His voice shook as he stared at him, "Will?"

Will's smile was awkward, his glasses still crooked on his face as he look anywhere but at Reid's eyes.

"Reid," he said, his voice steadier than his twitching eyes, "It's been a long time, huh?"

* * *

**A/N: **I was unsure of this chapter when I wrote it two years ago and I'm still iffy now.

But anyway. See you guys Friday!

Don't forget to review!


	24. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Eleven

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Sorry for not updating last night; I was kind of in the hospital. I left work an hour early and ended up in the ER. I was there 'til about three AM so... yeah. Sorry guys. I'm fine now, so no worries. It was kidney stones, which I've had before, so I can deal with that. A couple of days and some intense painkillers and I'll be good as new.

Anyway.

Warnings for this chapter: general creepiness, murder, gore, more evidence of poor Reid's Stockholm Syndrome. Hannibal being... well, Hannibal.

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

"I knew he was alive," Diana Reid was smiling at her and Clarice felt her own lips tug up in response. She was a bright, charming woman. Not exactly what Clarice had expected once she learned that Mrs. Reid was in a sanitarium, but a pleasant surprise. The doctor had gently informed her that Diana had good days and bad days and it was best to exercise caution when speaking about Spencer.

"He stopped writing for such a long time and his friends came to talk to me, telling me he'd been taken, but I _knew_ he was alive and I knew he was happy."

Her smile turned wistful and Clarice just nodded her head, "When he started writing again it must've made you happy."

Diana's eyes locked on hers, electric blue and so wide. It was like being pinned down and having her secrets unraveled. Briefly, Clarice wondered if Diana could hear her thoughts.

"I was glad he was writing again," Diana nodded and then frowned, "but they don't sound like my Spencer. They sound like someone else." Her brow furrowed and she fingered the stack of letters she had sitting in her lap.

"He's not the same."

"Do you think someone else wrote the letters?"

"No, of course not! I know my Spencer," Diana was insistent, "He wrote them. But he's not the same… Something is different."

Clarice wondered what was different, but she thought better of trying to take the letters just yet. She didn't want to upset Diana.

"He's sad…" Diana sighed, "but he doesn't want to be."

She gripped the letters tightly, her hands shaking. Suddenly, her arm shot forward and she held the folded paper out toward Clarice, her eyes bright, "Take them," she said, her throat tightening, "but you have to promise I'll get them back."

Clarice reached out and gripped the letters, but Diana didn't let go and so she nodded, meeting her piercing gaze again, "I promise, Mrs. Reid," she said, "I'll return them personally if I have to."

Diana let the letters go and smiled.

* * *

The lab was bright and cold. Clarice leaned over the table, watching Price work with pursed lips.

"Anything?"

He looked up, "You've got to give me a little bit of time, Agent Starling," he said, gesturing toward the paper, "I can't just lift the prints off with magic."

She leaned back and nodded, "Sorry," she said, fighting the urge to bounce on her feet, "I'm a little impatient."

He eyed her sympathetically, "Sure," he said, "I get that. But this kind of thing does take time. How about I call you when I'm finished?"

She shook her head, "I can wait,"

He sighed, not entirely pleased with her presence, but nodded and went back to his work, silently wishing Beverly were there so that Clarice would have someone to distract her. Her unwavering gaze was a bit disconcerting.

The silence was palpable while he worked, but finally he looked up from the first letter and smiled, "Definite prints," he said, holding it up gingerly. "There are at least two separate sets. I'll run them and let you know what we get. Odds are they're Reid's and Dr. Lecter's."

She nodded, "Odds are," she said, leaning up. Her back pinched a bit from leaning over the table. She looked around the lab with a frown,

"Where's Katz?"

Price looked up, "In the field," he said, "Jack needed her to look over a crime scene."

Clarice tensed up at Jack's name and she nodded, "Text me as soon as she gets back. I want her look over the letters before I hand them over to Jack."

"You're sure about not letting Jack know about them yet?"

Clarice met his gaze with a stern one of her own. Though he was several years her senior, he felt the weight of her stare and was reminded of Jack.

"I'm sure,"

* * *

Spencer stared at Will for the longest moment, not seeming able to understand what was in front of him. His jaw worked like he meant to talk, but no words came out at first, just a quick rush of air as he breathed.

Finally, he managed to force words past his tight throat, "What are you doing here?"

Hannibal stood, glancing down at his watch. He had to leave before he was late for work. "Will has decided to join us, Spencer,"

Spencer blinked, turning his attention to Hannibal, stuttering for a moment, "But… _decided?_"

"I'll leave you two to discuss this," Hannibal said, "Unfortunately I have to be going. I will be back in time for dinner."

Spencer watched him go, listening for the click of the lock at the door. He was still for several more minutes before sitting down in Hannibal's vacated chair. He grimaced as he did and his fists clenched. He could feel Will's eyes on him and tried not to shift self-consciously. Slowly, he looked back at Will's face, trying not to stare at the scars.

Will caught his gaze and smiled ruefully, "Ugly aren't they?" he asked, reaching up to touch one of the scars.

Reid quickly looked away and sighed, "What are you doing here, Will?"

Will hesitated, watching the younger man in front of him. He stared at Reid for a long time, noticing the pattern of bruises just visible around the collar of his shirt. He had seen them earlier, but in the bright kitchen lights they really stood out.

"Can I ask you a question, Dr. Reid?"

Reid warily nodded.

"Do you hate him?"

He blinked, his eyes widening at the question. He thought for a moment before answering, "I did. At least… I think I did. It's hard to really say anymore. Everything's confusing." He frowned and stared down at his hands.

"That's what I thought…" Will sighed, "It's easy to say he's a monster standing outside and looking in, but when he gets inside your head and he starts picking at things… it's hard to tell."

Reid nodded, seemingly lost in thought. Will continued talking anyway, not sure if he was speaking to himself or not and not entirely caring in any case.

"He doesn't love you, you know," he said, "He doesn't love me either. I don't think he loves anyone. He's not capable…" He trailed off, sighing.

"That doesn't actually answer my question,"

Will smirked and shook his head, "It's been several months since he abducted you," he said, "Why don't you tell me why I came back?"

Reid was quiet for a tense moment before scrubbing at his eyes and shaking his head, "You hated him," he said, his voice partly insistent, "You said he was a monster. Why would you go back to that? Especially if you already think he doesn't care about you?"

"I never said he doesn't care," Will corrected him, "I said he doesn't _love_. Hannibal has his own… twisted way of caring about people. If he finds someone interesting – which doesn't happen often – he wants to have them for himself. He wants to study them, push them, see how much it takes to break them just enough. He likes to toy with people.

"Like you," Will continued, nodding toward him, "or me. Or Agent Starling. I'd say Jack, but I honestly think he hates Jack too much to kill him. It's more fun for Hannibal to torture Jack while he's alive, to make him relive all his old failures. That's probably why the first thing he did was take you."

Reid frowned and shook his head, "So you came back because Hannibal doesn't love you, but he finds you interesting?"

"I came back," Will's voice was hard, "because even though he's a twisted, sick son of a bitch he's got a point. And because even after all this time, he's still the thing I think about most."

"You love him…"

Will raised a brow, finally meeting Reid's eyes for half a second, "Don't you?"

* * *

When Hannibal returned it was nearing dark outside. He found Spencer and Will in the living room, Will sitting on the floor near the blood stain, his head turned toward Spencer. Spencer was on the couch, his legs folded underneath him and his eyes closed though he wasn't sleeping.

He paused and listened to what Will was saying to him,

"According to Garcia and Bev, the whole unit seems to agree they're sleeping together now."

There a faint smile on Spencer's face and he hummed a light laugh. Hannibal quickly understood what was going on; Will was telling Spencer about what had happened while he was… away.

He cleared his throat as he entered, "It is getting late," he said, "Spencer if you are still willing to go, the gallery opens in an hour. You should get ready."

Spencer's eyes shot open and he met Hannibal's gaze, "You're still letting me go out?"

Hannibal smiled softly, "Of course," he said, "You've done nothing to change that, Spencer."

He was sure Spencer would have jumped off the couch had his body not been quite so sore. As it was, he still moved fairly quickly toward the bedroom, oblivious to Will and Hannibal's eyes on him the entire time.

"You can accompany us if you would like, Will," Hannibal said, turning toward the other man, who was standing and stretching stiff muscles. Will frowned and shook his head.

"You're going to ask him to kill again tonight, aren't you?"

Hannibal paused only for a moment, a deliberate and annoying pause. "Not tonight," he said, "Tonight I am merely going to ask him to choose someone. I cannot afford to build up a body count so quickly. Whoever he chooses tonight will die in a few weeks time."

He had decided that it would be better for Spencer to choose his first real victim; he didn't want Spencer to continually rely on him to guide him through this. He would have to learn to do it himself. He would, eventually, accept it.

Will was making a face, "Don't make him do this, Hannibal," he said, "He's just a kid. He's innocent."

Hannibal stepped toward Will, pleased when the younger man held his ground and glared at the area just above his tie. He reached out to cup his face, his thumb trailing of the end of one of his scars. Will shivered visibly and he bent down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, far gentler than he'd ever been with Will before.

Will pulled away and turned his eyes toward the floor, his fists tight.

"You were innocent once, my dear William,"

"Until you took that from me," Will whispered.

"You gave your innocence to me," Hannibal said, "Do not deny that you had any part in what happened between us. I taught you to embrace your nature. When the time is right, Spencer will give his innocence to me as well. I am merely aiding the process."

Will shook visibly and let out a hard breath.

"There's no chance of you letting him go is there?"

"None,"

"Then I'm definitely staying," he said, "He should have someone here to actually help him."

Hannibal smiled, "You can't use Spencer as an excuse forever," he said, "You'll eventually have to accept that you're here because you know I was right about you all along." He placed a hand on Will's jaw again, fingers splayed across the back of his neck.

"There is a remarkable potential for darkness in you, William. You could be beautiful."

* * *

Hannibal kept Spencer at his side as they moved large building – it was incredibly beautiful and bright with white walls and marble floors and touches of silver. Spencer seemed in awe of the entire thing, but this was clearly not the first art gallery he'd been to. He behaved himself well and looked at the painting with a surprisingly critical and intelligent eye. It was a delightful different between Spencer and Will; Will hated these sort of events, hated people and had little use for studying art unless it suited some purpose.

"You're in a good mood," Spencer noted, watching Hannibal sip champagne and smile at him lightly.

"I'm surprised," Hannibal said, "you seem to be enjoying yourself quite well."

Spencer hesitated, his hazel eyes going dark for a moment, "It's better than being locked up," he said softly.

Hannibal's grip on his arm tightened just slightly and Spencer looked down, avoiding his eyes and shifting a bit on his feet.

"You know I cannot allow you to leave on your own, Spencer," he said, "I would not be able to trust that you would return to me."

"I wouldn't," Spencer was quick to say, "I'd run the first chance I got."

Hannibal smiled and guided him through the somewhat dense crowd of people. They were standing on the fringes of the group at the moment, watching others make small-talk and discuss the art and watching artists weave their way toward the patrons with wide smiles and gleaming eyes.

"While I appreciate your honesty, that isn't something I'm particularly pleased to hear, Spencer,"

Suddenly, Spencer went tense beside him and Hannibal noticed his pupils dilate slightly. His hands shook.

"You aren't going to punish me for that are you?"

Hannibal's grip softened, "Not for merely speaking the truth, Spencer," he said gently, "I would never punish you for being honest."

Spencer relaxed next to him and Hannibal felt slightly disappointed that the fear was so easily tamed now. Although he enjoyed Spencer's slowly building trust, it was a bit sad that it meant he wouldn't be able to experience the wonderful sight of Spencer truly afraid of him as often.

It was growing late and people were beginning to slowly trickle out when Hannibal finally guided Spencer toward a more populated area of the gallery, "I want you to do something for me, Spencer,"

Spencer warily met his eyes, "…What?"

"I want you to look around at these people and decide who is worthy of dying."

"No,"

Hannibal's grip tightened, "Spencer," he warned, his tone low and threatening. Spencer trembled a bit, but shook his head.

"I told you I didn't want to play this sick games with you," Spencer hissed, "I am not going to pick someone for you to kill."

"It isn't for me," Hannibal said, "It is for you. And you will pick. You do not have a choice in the matter."

Spencer went entire still, his fingers clawing into Hannibal's sleeve. He turned to stare at him, his eyes wide and his face pale.

"You can't ask me to kill again," he said, his voice low and fierce. "I won't do it."

Hannibal sighed, "I am not allowing you to get out of this, Spencer," he said, "You may choose who you like, but you are going to choose and you are going to kill them."

Spencer shook his head and dragged him farther away from the crowd, making sure that they were away from prying eyes and listening ears before speaking.

"This isn't negotiable, Spencer," he said, "You may choose whoever you wish. Observe them and make your decision. We still have a little time before the gallery closes."

"I don't want to," he said, his teeth grinding together.

Hannibal sighed and wrapped his hands gently around Spencer's neck, his fingers threading through the hair at the back of his head. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the younger man's, their breathing mingling together in the closeness of the space.

"I know this is difficult, Spencer," he said, "but I am asking you to let go. Let go of your ideas of right and wrong, just for a short time, Spencer. If, after this, you still do not agree with me then I will not force you to do this again."

Spencer met his eyes, searching them for any trace of a lie.

"You promise?"

"Cross my heart," Hannibal whispered, smiling and placing a hand over his chest.

Spencer hesitated, biting his lip hard. Hannibal reigned himself in before he could lunge forward and attack thought beautiful lips.

"O-Okay…"

* * *

It took Spencer nearly half an hour to choose someone. He was meticulously studying everyone there, his eyes skirting over the younger people and the children quickly and going to the men, many of them married couples. His eyes settled on one man, who was with his wife and a young girl who appeared to be their daughter and he glanced up at Hannibal cautiously.

"Can we talk to them?" he asked, his voice quiet and timid.

Hannibal smiled on the inside, nodding and remaining as impassive as he possibly could on the outside.

"Of course," he said, leading Spencer toward the small family and smiling in greeting. They seemed polite enough, though the daughter averted her eyes and stared at the floor, looking extremely uncomfortable.

Hannibal led most of the conversation, watching Spencer out of the corner of his eye. He was staring at the daughter, his eyes tracking her movements against her father's, watching his hand resting at the small of her back and his fingers toy with her long hair. His hazel eyes darted to the wife. The man wasn't touching his wife at all.

After a few minutes, Spencer squeezed his arm with his long fingers, his face tight.

Hannibal glanced at him and then turned back to Mr. Salvatore Mancini. "I'm afraid I must say goodnight," he said easily, "It is getting quite late and I have work in the morning."

The man nodded and said goodnight, his Italian accent was thick and his English was a bit mangled, but he had a bright smile and enthusiastic eyes.

Hannibal had gathered enough information from him during their conversation. He was an art dealer, fairly well-off but no one immensely important. From a small family of wealth and he had a very good eye for artistic talent. He also had an extremely intimate relationship with his fifteen year old daughter.

Spencer was looked straight ahead as they left the gallery, his hands in tight fists at his side.

"Him," he said, his voice mangled with some intense rage. "I'll kill him."

Hannibal smiled a sharp, please smile and pulled Spencer closer to him, pressing a soft kiss into his hair before helping him into the car.

"Excellent, Spencer," he said proudly, "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

* * *

"There isn't much on the letters," Beverly said, sighing in frustration. "The usual collection of oils from skin and ink from a black ballpoint pen you can pick up in any store in the country."

Clarice sighed, "Nothing else?"

"I found a hair in one of the envelopes," she lifted up the small bag containing the hair. "It's the right color for Dr. Reid's, I think, but we'll try to run DNA to be sure. Jimmy matched the prints to Reid and Lecter so we can be reasonably sure Dr. Reid did write the letters."

"But we already knew that," Clarice nodded, shaking her head. "And there isn't a way to trace them back to the sender."

"No return address," Bev said, "It's possible we can try to track the paper and the envelopes, but there's no telling how long Lecter got them or even where and he'd probably be smart enough to buy something untraceable."

"Probably," Clarice nodded.

"We gonna let Jack know what's going on now?" Bev asked, "We need to get a handwriting expert in here to try and match the script to give us a better idea of whether or not these were written by Reid or Lecter."

"His team wants to read them," Clarice said, "We'll let them come take a look before telling Jack. There isn't anything new he can learn from it anyway."

Bev nodded. Normally she wouldn't want to keep evidence like this from Jack, but she understood Dr. Reid's team wanting to be in on this case and she was willing to bend the rules a bit to let them help as much as possible.

"Send 'em down,"

* * *

"May I ask you a question?" Hannibal looked toward Spencer as he slowly changed into his pajamas, his eyes roving over the dark pattern of bruises that littered the young man's body. Spencer merely nodded in response.

"You seemed quite angry when we left tonight," he said, "What was is about Mr. Mancini that made you decide to kill him?"

Spencer tensed and closed his eyes. Hannibal knew, of course, what had been the reason for Spencer's decision, he simply wanted him to say it aloud. He wanted him to confirm it for him.

"He's molesting his daughter," he said stiffly.

"You know this for certain?"

"I've worked with the FBI since I was twenty-two," Reid said sharply, "I've seen the signs."

"You seemed particularly affected by this, Spencer, why did it upset you?"

"Didn't it upset you?" Spencer snapped at him, glaring openly now. Hannibal nodded gravely. Abusing children was something Hannibal did not tolerate. He had already decided, upon speaking to Mancini, that if Spencer didn't kill him, he would.

"Of course," he said, "but it seemed to bother you more than simply on principal. Have you ever been sexually molested, Spencer?"

Spencer frowned, "You mean by someone other than you?"

Hannibal sighed, "Spencer…"

"No," he sat down on the bed, his shoulders slumping. He hesitated and shook his head. "No I haven't."

"Then why did it upset you?"

"Because…" he fumbled, "Because I know someone who was sexually abused. I know what it did to him and I see how broken it made him feel inside. No one should ever have to suffer like that."

"Who?"

"That is none of your business," Spencer's words were harsh and Hannibal frowned.

"Spencer,"

"I'm not telling you," he started to stand from the bed but Hannibal caught his wrist and tugged him back down, keeping his fingers wrapped around his arm tightly.

"We were having a conversation, Spencer," he said, "it's rude to leave in the middle of it."

Spencer tried to free his hand, his eyes not meeting Hannibal's. "It's not my place to tell you something like that," he said, "He's my friend and I'm not going to betray him that way."

Hannibal released his wrist and Spencer lurched off the bed, putting distance between him and Hannibal. He eyed him like a cagy animal, wary and unsure if he was going to be punished for his behavior.

"I can understand your need to protect your friend," Hannibal said gently. "It is late. We should be getting to bed."

He turned the blanket back and Spencer shifted uncomfortably.

"Spencer?"

"I… I don't want to sleep next to you," he whispered, his eyes on the floor. He knew he was pushing his luck tonight, but his entire body was trembling and he didn't want to deal with sleeping with the other man so close. "Not tonight… Please."

The last word was forced, only there because Spencer knew without it Hannibal might become upset.

He studied him for a long time before nodded, "You may sleep in the guest room if you wish, Spencer," he said, "I will hear you if you have a nightmare."

Spencer shivered and nodded jerkily, quickly leaving the room with a quiet goodnight. He was angry and trying not to show it because he knew letting his anger out on him would only get him into trouble.

Several moments later, there was a knock at the door. Will didn't bother waiting for Hannibal to tell him to enter before coming in. He'd never been quite as good at maintaining polite boundaries. Hannibal continued to forgive him his grievances, however.

"I think you scared him off, Hannibal," Will said, "if you aren't careful he's never going to let you touch him again."

"He has had a long night," Hannibal said, "He simply wants to be alone."

"So he did pick someone then," Will sounded upset, his frown making the scars twist oddly on his face.

"He seemed quite certain about his choice,"

"And that's going to kill him inside," Will frowned, "You're going to break him, Hannibal. Why would you want to do that?"

"Because, my dear William, as I discovered with you, broken is beautiful. You two are so similar, but you will make very different killers. He would not have your imagination or inclination for the dramatic. I believe his kills will be quick and brutal… Probably retribution for terrible crimes of unjust cruelty if his choice tonight is anything to judge by."

Will snorted, "Better than your terrible puns and grotesque displays, don't you think?"

"Will," Hannibal lowered his voice, his eyes narrowed in warning. Will stepped back a bit, but didn't appear too frightened. He'd gotten used to Hannibal's games a long time ago. Spencer would too if he stayed with him for long enough.

"Killing isn't an art,"

"You've said differently," Hannibal reminded him.

"What I _said_ is that you consider yourself an artist. That doesn't make you one. It hardly takes any creative imagination to butcher someone and display them for all the world to see their shame. It's petty."

"Petty?" Hannibal raised a brow, thinking over the fact that Will was possibly the only person who could say that to him and not end up with a knife to the throat.

"Extremely,"

Hannibal tilted his head, "Perhaps to some they would seem petty," he said, "but then those people would be missing the point and you, of all people, understand perfectly what I do."

"Yes," Will nodded, "You're a self-absorbed, narcissist and you elevate yourself to the level of God and look down on anyone and everyone. If your ego got any bigger, Hannibal, there would be room in this house for anyone else."

Hannibal growled and lunged forward, grabbing Will by his shirt and shoving him roughly, knocking them both to the ground. He straddled Will's hips and kept him place with his hands on his chest until he realized that Will wasn't struggling at all. He was smirking up at him with a dark light in his eyes.

His hands reached up and fingered at the buttons on his vest, "How long has it been since you've been _really_ pissed off, Hannibal?"

The older man growled and yanked Will forward, pressing a rough kiss to his mouth. Will pressed back with just as much heat, his nails clawing at Hannibal through the fabric of his shirt and climbing up his neck to rip at his hair.

After a moment, Hannibal climbed off of him and Will stood, panting and grinning faintly. It had been too long since his heart had pumped that fast, too long since he'd felt the welcome rush of fear and desire coupled together beautifully. For the first time in a long time, everything felt alright.

Will didn't even mind when Hannibal began unbuttoning his shirt for him, when his ran his long fingers over the scars on his chest and traced them with his tongue. He grimaced when he bit down into the scar he'd left him all those years ago, but he didn't protest.

He let himself get lost in the feeling of Hannibal's hands on his body, of his hands on Hannibal. Familiar and sharp and soft and rough and wonderful. When Hannibal pushed into him, setting a rough and too-fast pace, Will dug his nails into Hannibal's shoulders hard enough to draw blood and met his pace desperately, finally feeling whole ago.

* * *

"He doesn't mention anything about where they are," Rossi said, "He barely mentions Lecter at all."

"Maybe he doesn't want his mom to worry," JJ said, "He knows she been through a lot and he probably doesn't want to make it worse."

"Lecter's probably reading the letters before he sends them," Hotch nodded, frowning over them. The lab was more crowded than it usually was with the entire team down there studying the letters. The only one not there was Garcia and that was because she didn't want to see the letters; she said they'd only remind her that her baby was being held captive by a psycho.

"I'm certain he is," Clarice said, "He wouldn't send anything out blindly, even if he'd managed to get Dr. Reid to trust him. Dr. Lecter's too careful for that."

"Yeah, but…" Blake, the newest member of the team and the one who only knew Spencer very casually, leaned forward and tapped the letter closest to her through its plastic bag, "these letters don't read like someone being held captive or written under duress. He sounds… happy. Look at how he describes traveling with Dr. Lecter."

JJ tilted her head and read over the section, "He says he's seeing a lot of things he never thought he'd see…"

"Blake's right," Morgan frowned, "this sounds like Reid's on vacation or something."

"Do you think Lecter forced him to write it like that?" JJ asked, glancing toward Hotch.

Blake answered, shaking her head, "I doubt it," she said, "the handwriting isn't forced or shaky, it's a clear and matches the other samples we have of his. He didn't press hard against the paper or tear through it. If he'd been forced to write it this way, there would be signs of stress in the way he wrote."

"You think Reid is actually happy?" Morgan frowned, "He's been kidnapped!"

"That doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't be happy," Hotch frowned.

"You think he's starting to sympathize with Lecter?"

"Lecter was already getting into his head before the abduction," Hotch said, "We don't know what he's been doing to Reid since, but there are a lot of ways to manipulate someone's thought process."

"Reid's too smart for that," JJ protested, "He wouldn't…"

"He already was," Hotch sounded reluctant to say the words, "We all saw the signs before Lecter escaped."

"But Reid knew this guy was a monster," Morgan said, "He knows what he's done. He wouldn't just roll over for the guy."

"Of course not," Hotch agreed, "but knowing someone's a monster doesn't make you immune to their mind games. Reid's been with Lecter for months now. Anything could've happened…"

* * *

It was more than a month later when Hannibal decided it was time to find Salvatore Mancini. He was as meticulous as he always was in timing and study. He'd found the man's residence, studied his schedule and knew his movements better than he probably did himself.

Spencer was anxious, his hands shaking and his eyes wide as Hannibal led him to the car. Will had demanded to tag along and was sitting next to Spencer in the back seat, trying to help him calm down.

He was whispering to him, telling him about the time he'd helped Hannibal kill someone, his voice low, but not so low that Hannibal couldn't hear him. He could sense the self-loathing and regret in Will's tone, but he was trying to make this easier for Spencer because he knew there was no way Hannibal was going to back down from it.

Mancini was leaving his office late at night, the parking lot empty and eerily silent. Hannibal looked to Spencer, who bit his lip and followed him out of the car. Hannibal would knock the man out, but Spencer had to help him put him in the car.

Spencer watched nervously while Hannibal smashed the man's head against his own car, effectively knocking him unconsciously. He beckoned Spencer closer and told him to help him restrain the man.

Spencer knelt by his side and his hands shook.

"I don't have to kill anyone else after this…" he whispered, glancing up at Hannibal, "Right?"

"Only if you want to," Hannibal assured him.

Spencer nodded and closed his eyes, "Okay,"

His movements were uncertain and terrified, but he helped Hannibal tie the man's legs and hands together and shoved the gag into his mouth with a wrinkled nose before standing and helping Hannibal lift him toward the car. Will watched, ready to step in the second Spencer decided to back out, but so far he seemed terrified but willing enough. Hannibal had given him strict orders not to interfere.

They drove for quite a while before Hannibal parked the car in front of an old storage warehouse. The body was not meant to be found right away.

"You will remain in the car, William," he said, turning to face the other man as Spencer climbed out of the car.

"But,"

"Stay in the car," Hannibal stressed the words and Will nodded, watching Spencer worriedly. Over the past month Spencer had gotten a bit less terrified around Hannibal, but he still spoke more to Will than to Hannibal. Will knew he didn't want to do this, no matter what Mancini had done. He watched nervously as Hannibal led Spencer into the warehouse with Mancini.

Hannibal passed Spencer the knife and laid the slowly waking Mancini on the ground inside, watching the young man carefully.

Spencer bit his lip and looked back at him, "I really don't want to do this…"

"Spencer," Hannibal placed his hands on the young man's shoulders, both of them ignoring the grunts and struggles that suddenly came from Mancini as he realized he was bound and gagged, "I want you to calm down. Clear your mind, alright? Think about what this man has done, the torment he has put his daughter through…"

Mancini let out a panicked squeak.

Spencer's fists tightened around the blade.

"He doesn't deserve to live," Hannibal said. Spencer was nodding, his lips tightly pressed together and Hannibal grinned, spinning him around to face his soon-to-be victim.

"He's a disgusting monster, Spencer. A pathetic excuse of a human being not fit to live. Think of what his daughter has been through, how she must feel…"

Spencer sucked in a hard breath and closed his eyes.

"Are you ready?"

He nodded and Hannibal dropped his arms, stepping back. Spencer took a hesitant step forward before moving more assuredly toward the struggling captive. He knelt at his side, gripping the knife in his hand, and met his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, yanked the gag out and shoved the knife into his gut. He kept his eyes on Mancini's the entire time, dragging the knife up and splitting the abdomen with a bit of difficulty.

Screams filled the warehouse, echoing off the walls and blood drenched the ground, soaking into the knees of Spencer pants and splattering onto his gloved hands. It took several moments for the screams to die and become gasping, desperate pleas of mercy that went unheeded.

Spencer ripped the knife free, not looking at the splatter of blood and organs as the man fought to live, trying to find words to beg for his life. With a sudden burst of rage, Reid thought about Morgan, about Carl Buford and all of his victims. He thought about this man's timid, terrified daughter and he brought the knife down again, this time going through the chest.

He repeated the movement several times before his arms ached and he stumbled up to his feet, still clutching the knife.

Mancini was dead. Had been for over a minute. Spencer was trembling, but he wasn't sure if it was with rage or terror or excitement. His entire body tingled and felt on edge and he wanted nothing more than to get out of that warehouse.

He spun, wide-eyed, and stared at Hannibal.

"Can we go now?" his voice was pitched too high, cracking under the stress of so much _feeling_. "Please can we go?"

Hannibal smiled and gently wrapped an arm around him, taking the knife, "Not quite yet, Spencer," he said, "We aren't finished."

He gestured them to the containers he brought and Spencer went very still, staring at them. With a deep breath, he nodded and followed Hannibal back to the body, following his instructions carefully for removing organs.

The heart was damaged, the stomach and lungs also no good, but the liver and kidneys seemed in fine condition Hannibal had Spencer help him pack them away. By the end of it, Spencer was covered in blood, but not shaking any more. He felt incredibly calm, breathing in the smell of blood without feeling sick. He didn't even have to fight back bile while helping butcher then man he'd just murdered.

He tried very hard not to analyze that.

"_Now_," Hannibal stood, carrying the containers himself, "we may leave."

Spencer followed behind him closely, starting to feel numb and idly wondering if Hannibal would let him sleep with him tonight, just so he wouldn't have to be alone.

* * *

**A/N: **Poor Reid. I'm going to Hell.

Also, head's up... this is about the point in the story when I realized that I had no idea what I was doing. Things just kind... escalated beyond my original plans. So... yeah.

Don't forget to review!


	25. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Twelve

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Sorry about the delay; I promise I'm not going to make a habit of this, but I was pretty much lost in a haze of narcotics yesterday and spent the day in bed. Good news is that I'm off the painkillers now and return to work tomorrow so everything should go back to normal.

As always, thank you for your support and reviews!

Warnings for this chapter include: me being a bit of a nerd, cannibalism, Will playing 'poke the cannibal' because his sense of self-preservation is basically zero, and also some more very dubious consent. Please proceed with caution. You've all been warned.

Don't forget to review!

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

Spencer was awake whenever Will knocked on the guest room door; the pair of them had taken turns either sleeping in there or sleeping on the couch if neither of them were in the master bedroom. They never talked about what happened in there at night and Hannibal seemed fine with that arrangement. It had been almost a full month since Mancini's murder and Will could see the signs of Spencer cracking.

"Hey, uh…" he frowned, pushing his glasses up his nose, "Hannibal's already gone, I told him to let you sleep a couple of hours. After last night, I figured…" he trailed off. Without Hannibal around he felt awkward around Spencer, unsure of how to talk to him. Of course, it was generally that way with everyone.

Spencer's eyes cast down toward the floor and his shoulders slumped, "Sorry," he said, "I didn't -"

"Don't apologize for nightmares," Will tried to smile, but it didn't quite turn out right, "Nightmares I get. Trust me."

Spencer just nodded and stood, his movements not as stiff as they had been previously. The bruises had faded and the bite marks were healing but Will could still see the faintest traces of them lingering. Hannibal was rarely gentle.

"He left breakfast," Will said, turning and leaving the room. He knew Spencer would follow and wasn't surprised by the faint shuffling footfalls behind him. Spencer tended to wake slowly and wasn't very talkative until he'd had coffee. He sat down at the table across from Will, watching him for a long moment.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Hmm?"

Spencer paused and stared down at his food instead of at Will, "You have a key, don't you?"

Will blinked and froze. Spencer glanced up at him and sighed, nodding to himself.

"I thought so,"

He had a pained expression on his face and Will was suddenly hit with a crashing wave of guilt. He hadn't abducted Spencer and abused him for months, but he was essentially aiding in his captivity now. He held the key to his freedom and wouldn't use it.

"I would give it to, Spencer… But he'd find you, you know he would. I don't even want to think about what he'd do to you if you ran."

Spencer frowned, "Hopefully he'd kill me,"

His mouth turned down in a cynical frown and he pushed his plate away, wrapping his arms around his abdomen and sighing. Will watching him and got the ridiculous urge to hug him. He didn't, of course. He was already bad enough at social interaction, he didn't need an awkward and unwelcome hug to make things worse.

"What did you do for fun?" he asked suddenly, not realizing that he was staring at the younger man intensely until Spencer looked up and they locked eyes for a too-long second. Spencer's eyes were wide and sad and hollow.

"W-What?"

"Before your life became a living nightmare, I mean. What did you do with your time off. Hobbies, stuff like that. I'm guess you're into bad sci-fi and reading books in languages not spoken anymore."

Spencer snorted, "Bad sci-fi?"

"Am I wrong?"

"…It's not bad sci-fi," Spencer muttered, sounding vaguely offended. Will grinned, an idea forming. He wasn't particularly good at polite gestures, but he was definitely good at reading people and Spencer needed something to boost his mood. Weirdly, the way Spencer stared at him with those wide eyes reminded Will of his dogs. He ignored the ache he felt at that thought.

"I'll be back soon," Will said, standing.

Spencer caught him by the arm, standing with him. "You're leaving?"

He hesitated, "Just for a little while. I'll be back."

He definitely looked like a kicked puppy then and Will felt that intense surge of guilt again. He reached out and grabbed Spencer's arm, gripping it tight. He didn't meet his eyes, but he came as close he dared to.

"I'll be back," he promised. Spencer tugged his arm away and nodded, leaving the kitchen. Will watched him walk sullenly toward the living room and pick up on of Hannibal's books, curling up on the couch.

He sighed. Part of him wished Spencer would at least try to fight him for the key. He hesitated at the door, wondering just how much trouble he would get in with Hannibal if he let Spencer go with him. He decided not to risk it and made sure to lock the door behind him as he left, wishing he could say that this was the first and last time he'd ever hate himself as much as he did.

* * *

When Will got back, Spencer was asleep, the book closed on his chest. He frowned and picked it up, flipping through it before setting it aside. Spencer had probably finished it in the couple of hours that he'd been gone.

He sat the bag he was holding down and reached over, shaking his shoulder gently.

"Hey, Doc, wake up," he said, shaking him harder. Spencer mumbled and cracked his eyes, sitting up slowly and staring at Will with a frown on his face. His eyes were wary and he pulled back, watching him like he didn't know exactly what to expect anymore.

"It took a lot of looking, but I think I found something…" he picked up the bag and handed it to the younger man, watching him eagerly. He rarely bought people gifts and this situation wasn't exactly what one would call normal so he wasn't sure what the proper etiquette here was.

"You seemed like you needed something to do," he said, "Other than watching the news and re-reading Hannibal's books anyway."

Spencer frowned and glanced down, opening the bag. There were several DVDs inside. His eyes widened as he pulled them out, a slow smile spreading across his face, a small light returning to his eyes.

"Am I forgiven yet?" Will asked gently.

Spencer grinned widely, picking out a box set of DVDs that had taken forever to find. He held it up, "Watch this with me."

* * *

Hannibal opened the door to the sound of the television buzzing, which was odd enough in itself. Will and Spencer rarely watched TV, except the news. He paused at the kitchen, surprised yet again that neither of them had heard his return. They were both usually waiting for him when he got home.

Easing his way quietly toward the living room, he cocked his head to the side and listened, catching snatches of dialogue from the television.

"_Am I… ginger?"_

"_No, you're just sort of… brown…"_

"_Aw! I wanted to be ginger! I've never been ginger! And you, Rose Tyler, fat lot of good you were! You gave up on me! …Ooh, that's rude. Is that what sort of man I am now? Am I rude? Rude and not ginger."_

Suddenly Will's voice rose over the TV, "I liked the other guy better," he said matter-of-factly. "He wasn't so… random."

"You have to give him a chance!" Spencer's voice, oddly buoyant, snapped, "It always takes time to warm up to a new Doctor. You can't just decide not to like him right off the bat."

"Well he hasn't done anything this whole time. The world's ending around him and he's taking a nap."

"He was unconscious!" Spencer argued. "You can't expect him to be the hero all the time."

"The first thing he did when he woke up was ignore the hostile aliens and start babbling about his _hair_."

There was a distinctly annoyed huff from Spencer, "He's the Doctor, Will," he said, "he's supposed to be eccentric."

"Eccentric or insane?"

"…Both."

"Like I said earlier," Will said, sounding a bit pleased with himself, "bad sci-fi."

Hannibal stepped into the entrance of the living room, clearing his throat. Both men jumped and Will immediately reached for the remote, pausing the DVD. Hannibal's eyes went to the screen, frowning at the frozen image there of a tall man in a robe looking incredibly disheveled and annoyed.

"You're back!" Will got off the couch quickly, looking vaguely like he'd been caught in some precarious situation.

"I am," Hannibal fought not to show his amusement, but his eyes sparkled and the corners of his lips tugged up a bit, "Enjoying yourselves?"

"Actually, yes," Spencer said.

"I went out and bought some DVDs this afternoon," Will explained, "There isn't exactly much to do when you keep him locked up in here most of the time."

Hannibal blinked as if just realizing that perhaps only providing Spencer with books he'd already read would eventually cause him to grow bored. He smiled gratefully at Will, but looked again at the TV.

"And you chose to watch some ridiculous show?"

"It's not ridiculous!" Spencer protested, frowning.

Will rolled his eyes, "It's a little ridiculous, Doc," he said, "but it's funny… and sometimes interesting."

He looked to Hannibal, "You might actually learn something. It seems to teach people how to act like decent human beings."

Hannibal's lips tightened, but he didn't pursue the comment, "Perhaps it was wrong of me to keep you isolated here. You should certainly be spending more time outside of the house, if only for the well-being of your mind."

Spencer blinked, "You're going to trust me outside on my own?"

"Not on your own, no," Hannibal said. When Spencer face fell, he continued, "Tell me, truthfully, Spencer, if I were to allow you unsupervised time outside, would you attempt to escape?"

He hesitated, feeling both Will's and Hannibal's eyes on him like their gazes weighed a ton. Finally, he sighed, "I just want to go home," he whispered, "I miss my friends. I miss my mom. I miss Maeve…" he bit his lip and looked up at Hannibal, "I wouldn't tell them where you are. I wouldn't. Before, I would… but I don't think I could anymore…"

Hannibal smiled softly. Progress was progress, after all.

"I don't doubt it," he said, "but the problem is that I don't want to lose you, Spencer. Maybe you can see your friends and loved ones again someday, when I trust you more, but not today."

His eyes went to Will, "However, I believe you have earned the right to spend time in the city with Will while I am working."

Will blinked, his eyes going wide, "You'd let me do that?"

"With conditions," Hannibal nodded.

"What conditions?" Spencer frowned, sitting up with his knees on the couch, his feet just barely touching the cushions. Hannibal grimaced, but said nothing again.

"For starters, you will wearing a tracking device."

"A what?"

"I am not going to risk you running away from Will, Spencer," Hannibal said, "I know he wouldn't try to stop you if you ran. You will stay with Will at all times and you won't hold any money."

Spencer pressed his lips together, fingers digging into the arm of the couch. He looked like he wanted to protest, but instead he nodded, "Okay," he said, his eyes wide and half-desperate. "Thank you."

Hannibal smiled at him, "The more you show me that I can trust you, the more freedom you'll have. Now come along, I want you both to help me prepare dinner…"

* * *

Preparing dinner was an event, to say the least. Hannibal oversaw everything, from them washing their hands to cleaning the vegetables. He didn't let Spencer handle the knife, but he put him to work mixing ingredients for some type of roll or mini cake – Spencer wasn't sure and neither was Will.

Spencer didn't ask who they were cooking because he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know. Then again, he didn't need to because halfway through Hannibal showing Will how to cut the veins from the overlarge heart he was preparing, Will asked the question.

Hannibal shot him a heated look, but Will didn't seem to care and turned his attention to the heart again.

"It's an honest question, Hannibal," he said, "You didn't take Mancini's heart…" he paused and glanced at him, "You killed someone else, didn't you?"

"Last night," Hannibal nodded, seeming unbothered, though his shoulders were tight and coiled beneath his shirt. Spencer swallowed and glanced over toward them, his eyes catching Hannibal's arms, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the tanned skin and slightly bulging muscles.

"Who?"

"Why does it matter, William?"

"Because we're about to _eat_ them," Will frowned, "don't you think we should be allowed to know who had to die for this?"

Hannibal sighed, "You never asked before,"

"I didn't _know_ before," Will growled.

"Will…" the word was soft spoken, but carried with it a hard note of warning. Will fell quiet after an annoyed sigh, though his movements because a bit more jerky, a bit more angry.

The silence was tense and Hannibal watched Will working for several minutes before speaking again.

"For someone who came here of his own free will, you are being very antagonistic,"

"I'm an antagonistic person," Will said, frowning. "And maybe I forgot what an asshole you could be when you wanted to be."

"Will…"

He sighed, "Sorry," he said, sounding truly apologetic. "Maybe I'm spending too much time stuck in here too."

Hannibal glanced sideways at him and nodded, "Perhaps you are…" he said lightly. He turned slightly to see Spencer,

"Spencer, would you mind checking the oven? I believe it's ready."

* * *

After dinner, Spencer helped Hannibal with the dishes while Will cleared up the mess they'd left earlier in the living room. They weren't finished drying – Hannibal preferred to hand wash his dishes rather than use a dishwasher. It was the only way to maintain his level of perfection.

Will stuck his head in after a moment, "I'm going to turn in early," he said, "if that's okay…?"

Hannibal acknowledged him with a brief nod and Will disappeared down the hall, the guest bedroom door opening and closing behind him.

He looked over at the young man and nudged him slightly in the ribs, "You've had an eventual day," he said lightly. Which made Spencer frown; Hannibal didn't make light conversation.

"I wouldn't say eventful," he said, "just better than the last several."

"Better because Will brought you those DVDs…" Hannibal said, glancing over.

Spencer frowned, "That was a big part of it," he said, "but really… it just… it felt normal."

"Normal?"

"I didn't feel like I was being held against my will in a small house with a serial killer," there was a bit of acid in Spencer's tone, "I… I was almost able to pretend that I was at home with friends doing something fun."

Hannibal sat the last plate aside and turned fully toward Spencer, studying him carefully, "I'm sorry I've made your stay here so unpleasant."

Spencer huffed at him and crossed his arms, "You kidnapped me," he said, "You aren't _sorry _for doing that."

"No," Hannibal nodded, "but I am sorry that you haven't been happy. I told you before, Spencer, I don't wish you any harm."

Spencer stared at him for a tense moment before nodding slowly, "I know…" he sighed, "I know in your mind what you're doing is fine. You don't see anything wrong with it. I'm just… tired of feeling so alone."

Hannibal reached out and pulled the young man into his chest, petting his hair gently, "You are not alone, Spencer," he assured him, "You have me and you have William. And now you have your insipid DVD collection…"

Spencer laughed and pressed his face into Hannibal's shirt, his fingers clutching at the fabric.

"Will was right," he said, "You should watch them."

He smiled fondly down at him and gently gripped his chin, lifting his face up to press a kiss against his slightly parted lips. Spencer's fingers clutched harder at his shirt when he slid his tongue inside and he hummed in approval when the young man reacted favorably, kissing back tentatively and letting his eyes flutter closed against the softer than usual touch.

He pulled back and toyed with a stray curl, pressing a hand against the small of Spencer's back.

"Perhaps I should repay William for giving you some normalcy,"

Spencer smiled and leaned back into him, "You really should…" he said quietly. "He's a lot easier to talk to than you are."

Hannibal chuckled and guided Spencer toward the bedroom. His eyes went wide for a moment and he started to protest, but a firm arm around his waist and soft lips in his hair killed the words before they left his lips. His body went lax in his grip, entirely pliant, and his feet moved toward Hannibal's destination.

Hannibal carefully shut the door behind them and turned to face Spencer, his smile becoming somewhat feral.

"Undress," he said, the word dripping with lust. Spencer swallowed and nodded, quick to follow his instruction. His fingers fumbled, still nervous even after all this time. He quickly got rid of his shirt and trousers and climbed onto the bed at Hannibal's behest.

Hannibal removed his vest and unbuttoned his shirt, but kept it on along with his pants, only pausing to kick off his shoes before climbing onto the bed over his captive.

He explored his body with his mouth, tracing the now familiar contours, licking and nipping along his ribs and grinning when the pale skin reddened beneath his lips. He loved the taste of him; soft and sweet and tinged with lust and fear.

He didn't touch any part of him with his hands, except his wrists, which he pinned over his head and held in an iron grip. Spencer squirmed and panted beneath him, his hips rocking as Hannibal's hot breath wafted over his half-hard penis. He bit his lip to keep from whining and Hannibal growled low in his throat, lunging forward to dominate his mouth, licking and biting at his lips.

Spencer didn't struggle against his hold and lifted his head, trying to take some control of the kiss. Hannibal wouldn't let him, biting roughly on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, and the young man quickly acquiesced.

He switched his grip on Spencer's wrists, pressing them both into one of his hands, and reached toward the nightstand for the lubrication he kept in the draw, spreading it over his fingers. He sat up slightly, watching Spencer watch him with hazy eyes.

He shoved his legs apart and reached beneath him, finding his entrance and tracing it with one slick finger before pressing in just slightly, not enough to penetrate him, just enough to taunt him.

"I want you to tell me something, Spencer…" Hannibal said, his voice even though he was having a bit of difficulty controlling his breathing when Spencer was so thoroughly complaint to him.

Spencer blinked, "…What?" there was still a nervous quality to his voice, but that would change soon enough.

Hannibal pressed hard, pushing past the ring of muscle with his index finger. Spencer hissed and groaned, his hips bucking slightly into the pressure as his eyes slipped closed.

"I want you to tell me that you love me," Hannibal ordered.

Spencer's eyes flew open again to stare at Hannibal, clearer than they had been a moment again.

"You want… What?"

He pressed the digit in farther, then slowly began to pull it out, repeating the motion several times until Spencer was moaning again, biting down on those pretty lips, smearing more blood across his mouth.

"Tell me you love me," Hannibal said, his eyes intently focused on Spencer while a second finger began to tease at his entrance.

Spencer's breath shook and his head lolled from side to side, "B-But…" he was having trouble remembering how to speak, "I – I don't… Ahh!"

Hannibal roughly shoved the second finger inside, spreading them wide and scissoring them. Spencer's hips jolted and he swallowed another cry, his erection beginning to throb.

"Spencer…" Hannibal said softly, "say it. Tell me you love me."

"I…" Spencer gasped, his body almost entirely limp. Hannibal released his wrists and trailed his fingers lightly down Spencer's chest, keeping his other fingers working inside of him. As he reached his groin, his touch became almost feather light and Spencer tried to buck his hips into his hand, groaning.

"P-Please…"

"Say that you love me,"

A third finger was stretching him now, pressing in slower than the second. Spencer's back arced up and his fingers clutched at the sheets, "H-Hannibal…"

His fingers trailed the length of his penis, grasping his gently in a tortuously soft touch. He barely held him at all, only giving him the slightest sensation of feeling.

"Say it, Spencer,"

He pressed the fingers deeper inside of him, curling them and grinning when Spencer's entire body jolted, a pained sounded sob breaking through his throat.

"I – I lov – Hannibal!"

"You have to say it, Spencer," Hannibal told him, gripping his erection tighter, massaging him fully now. The flesh was hot and pulsing beneath his expert fingers and Spencer's pale face was red, his pupils blown wide open. He wasn't going to last much longer. He quickened the pace of his fingers and Spencer sobbed again, his eyes squeezing shut.

"I love you!" he cried out as his hips thrust forward one last time, his body shuddering with the release.

He collapsed a moment later, breathing heavily, and slowly cracked his eyes open to see Hannibal gently wiping his stomach and his own hands clean. Hannibal caught his gaze and smiled at him, tossing the napkin away and leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his swollen, slightly bloody lips.

"Good boy, Spencer," he whispered, running his fingers through his sweaty hair, "I'm very proud of you."

Spencer slipped into unconsciousness with a somewhat deranged smile on his lips, his body buzzing with the incredibly wonderful feeling of having made Hannibal happy.

* * *

**A/N: **The _Doctor Who _quote is from "The Christmas Invasion" because, well, I wanted to include it and so I did. Sometimes the inner geek just escapes for a little bit, you know?

Anyway.

Please review?


	26. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Thirteen

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Sorry again, guys! I promise I'm not doing this on purpose. I was having some computer issues and work was a bit insane. Thanks as always for your encouragement, thoughts and support! You guys are awesome!

Warnings for this chapter include: mild depression...?, Stockholm Syndrome, messy and confusing relationship boundaries, me being a nerd again, and one very pissed off Hannibal.

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

"You're still up," Will smiled a bit when he spotted Spencer sitting on the couch, the television glowing. The volume was turned down until it was barely audible and Spencer had the blankets bunched around him, looking small and vulnerable sitting at the edge of the couch.

"Couldn't sleep," Spencer didn't take his eyes off the TV.

Will sat down at the opposite end of the couch, taking the extra ends of the blankets and tucking them around himself.

"Me either," he said, "Nightmares…"

"I think I just drank too much coffee,"

"Don't you always?" Will glanced over at him, raising a brow. Spencer smiled faintly and shrugged. He'd been oddly quiet the last few days, quieter than usual at least.

"What episode is this?" he glanced toward the TV, recognizing the Doctor but not the woman with him.

"Wait… where's Rose?"

"Gone," Reid said absently, "The Doctor's taking Martha to meet Shakespeare now."

"What happened to Rose?"

"You should've watched it with me last night," he said, "Then you'd know, wouldn't you?"

Will could feel the bitterness rolling off of the young man. He and Hannibal had left Spencer alone the night before, Hannibal dragging Will to some opera that he didn't want to go to. He was fairly sure the only reason he went was because Hannibal was following his next intended victim and wanted Will there with him.

"You're not going to catch me up?"

"You can watch the DVDs any time you want," Spencer pointed out, still not looking at him. Will's gut twisted and he sighed heavily, falling quiet and turning his attention to the TV.

"Was that a _Harry Potter _reference?" he asked almost twenty minutes later, turning incredulously to stare at Spencer.

"From what I understand," Spencer nodded, "But I've never read _Harry Potter_."

"_You've_ never read the _Harry Potter_ books?"

Spencer shook his head, still keeping his eyes focused on the television. "Garcia did; she wanted me to read them, but I never got the chance. She said I was too caught up in _Star Trek_…"

"Never even saw the movies?"

"Seaver and JJ tried to drag me to see the last one when it was in theaters," he said, "but… I was in Baltimore."

"Oh…" Suddenly the room felt incredibly small and Will shifted, trying to ease the churning in his stomach.

"I read the first few," Will said, feeling awkward, "They're good. I mean… for kid's books. I wanted to finish the series but I always seemed to have more important things to do."

"…I think you might be worse at conversation than I am," Spencer said suddenly. He still wasn't looking at him and he wasn't smiling, but Will took that as a good sign at least. He laughed a bit.

"I'm terrible in just about any social situation," he said, "don't take it personally."

There was a long pause before Spencer finally spoke, his voice a bit choked, "…He made me tell him I loved him…"

Will froze, something feeling very broken inside of him when he slowly turned to look at Spencer again. He was staring at the TV, his hazel eyes glistening with tears he didn't want to shed.

"Spencer…"

"I'm not even sure if I meant it or not… it felt like I did," he was whispering now, his voice so low Will had to strain to hear him. He didn't have to have his so-called gift to know just how utterly broken Spencer was.

"I didn't want to say it, but then I did and then I wondered if it was true and he was holding me and I felt _good_ and then I just felt so sick and… What is wrong with me?"

"With you? Spencer, there's nothing wrong with you,"

Will slid closer to him, moving down to the middle of the couch until he was right next to Spencer. He hesitated for a second before putting an arm around him gently.

"I feel like I'm not me anymore," he whispered, leaning against Will heavily with a half-choked sob. "I feel like I'm losing who I am."

Will's heart twisted, "He does that," he said, "He breaks you apart and rearranges the pieces into whatever he wants them to be. I'm sorry…"

"I shouldn't feel this way," Spencer continued, "He's a monster. I used to hunt people like him, I used to hate them. B-but he's there and he's nice and it doesn't make sense but when he touches me I just… I feel _right._ It feels good, but then he stops touching me and I feel dirty and wrong and…" he trailed off, babbling a bit.

"I know…" God did he know. Will's arm tightened a bit around Spencer's shoulder and he remembered back before he'd known what Hannibal was. He'd been so happy. Hannibal had made him happy, had pulled him right out of the darkness and grounded him. Made him whole and sane and he really had loved him.

"I can't stay here," Spencer suddenly yanked him from his thoughts, "I can't. You have to get me out of here. Please. Get me out of here."

Will's first instinct was to say yes. To grab Spencer's hand and pull him out the door right that instant. But that would be a very, very bad idea, so instead he just held onto the young man and closed his eyes and whispered,

"I'll try,"

* * *

Hannibal woke earlier than usual that morning, slipping his robe on and padding quietly toward the kitchen. He paused when he heard the faint murmuring from the television and turned toward the living room.

The TV was playing a quiet theme song, the screen on the menu scene, replaying over and over. He bent and shut it off, turning toward the couch with a fond smile. His eyes widened just slightly when he realized that both Spencer and Will were on the couch, Spencer curled up and leaning awkwardly against Will, Will's arms wrapped around Spencer loosely.

He thought about waking them, then decided against it, making his way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Neither of them were awake by the time he'd finished and he saw no need to wake them. They looked oddly peaceful, even Will who never looked peaceful. He ate and cleaned up by himself before once more returning to the living room.

Gently, he ran his fingers through Spencer's hair, smiling when the young man turned toward the touch and mumbled his name. He didn't wake up, however, and Hannibal let him sleep, turning to Will and putting a hand on his shoulder.

He only had to squeeze gently for Will to twitch and crack his eyes, blinking blearily up at him.

"Hannibal?" he croaked, sitting up a bit and gently disentangling his limbs from Spencer.

"Don't get up," Hannibal told him, "I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving."

"Oh…" Will nodded, frowning a bit, "…When you get back we need to talk, Hannibal…" his eyes flicked toward Spencer and Hannibal nodded slowly.

"Later, William," he said, "Go back to sleep. I will see you in a few hours."

* * *

"Why did you come back?" Spencer asked, glancing over at Will from where he was looking over the books; they were in a library, Spencer eagerly looking over all the spines. His eyes were bright and round and he didn't look quite as depressed as he had the night before.

"What do you mean?"

"You never did answer that question," Spencer said.

"I'm pretty sure I did," Will said, turning his attention to the books pointedly.

Spencer shook his head, "No, you turned the question around on me and then completely evaded the original question."

Will frowned and shook his head, "I don't think I did,"

"I have an eidetic memory, Will," Reid said, "I remember exactly what happened."

"It's complicated,"

"Everything about this is complicated," Spencer said, "I'm fairly certain I can keep up."

He smiled a bit and sighed, "I told you: because he was right… About me at least."

"What about?"

"I dream about murderers," Will said, "I dream I _am_ the murderer. I've killed people and it felt good, it felt -"

"Powerful?"

"Yeah…"

"I hear that a lot in the BAU…"

"From killers," Will said.

"You're not a killer,"

"Have you ever wanted to do something, but you knew it was wrong and you tried to tell yourself that you really didn't want to, but you knew you were lying to yourself?"

Spencer frowned at him, "Are you saying you want to be a serial killer?"

"I'm saying that I think about murder," Will said, "A lot. Not just from other killer's perspectives. Even before I became a cop I thought about it… And after working with the FBI…"

He trailed off for a minute, his brows scrunching together and his eyes going distant behind his glasses. He shoved them up his nose and sighed.

"I've thought about killing people I know, Spencer," he said.

"Who?"

"Freddie Lounds…" Will said, "I thought about what it would be like to stab her. There were times when I might have if there hadn't been other people around. …I thought about killing Jack."

"Jack Crawford?" Spencer raised a brow. Will nodded and Spencer snorted, "I can understand that."

"I'm serious,"

"Everyone thinks about killing people, Will," Spencer said, "In a moment of anger, it's easy to think about taking things too far. Not everyone does it."

"This is different, Spencer," Will said, "I've thought about killing people I don't know, who just did things that bothered me. A dad yelling at his kid at the park, a teenage girl dragging her little brother around by the arm in the grocery store…"

Will watched Spencer shifted uncomfortably, "You've never killed anyone like that though…"

"No… but I still think about it. Hannibal might have something to do with that, but he's also the only one who understands. The only one who stuck by my side when I was falling apart. Even Alana abandoned me then…"

"Maybe they didn't know how bad it was because Hannibal was the only person you would talk to," Spencer whispered.

Will studied his face carefully, "You know something about that?"

Spencer sighed, "When I… A few years ago I… had trouble with drugs. I was spiraling and I never really talked to anyone about it. Sometimes I'd tell myself that no one cared because they _had_ to see how far I'd gone, but they didn't talk to me about. I did get clean but then things got bad again and _Hannibal_ was who I talked to. I don't even know why, I just… I told him about it and he helped me stay clean. He was the only person outside of NA meetings who I actually admitted the problem to…

"The team knew, but they didn't say anything out right. Hotch would make subtle remarks sometimes and Morgan and Prentiss always asked if I was okay and Rossi would give me these looks, but they didn't come out and say anything. I think they were scared that if they did I'd shatter…"

He hugged himself, his lips folded together, "I know they cared, but sometimes it didn't feel like it. The same thing could've happened to you… I doubt they didn't see you breaking and maybe they did try to help and you didn't notice. Maybe they were scared of saying too much because you would've shut them out."

"Maybe," Will nodded, "but that doesn't change much."

"You really do love him…" Spencer whispered, looking at him strangely.

Will hesitated. He wanted to say no. How could he love someone who kills and eats other human beings? But he couldn't. He had tried hating Hannibal and at best he could manage deep anger, but never enough for real hate. He understood Hannibal because Hannibal made him understand and Hannibal was the one who held his head above water when he was drowning. Sometimes it made him hate himself, but Will felt alive when he was with Hannibal like he never felt with anyone else.

"I do…"

Spencer nodded and was silent for several moments, his eyes shifting around the library for a long moment. He fidgeted with the bracelet around his wrist – the tracking device, a slim, black circle that didn't stand out too much.

His eye wandered toward the restrooms and he turned to Will, "Can I go to the bathroom?" he asked carefully.

"Sure, yeah," Will started to follow him and Spencer stopped, shaking his head.

"I'm thirty years old," he said, "Can't I at least go to the bathroom alone?"

Will hesitated. Hannibal would follow him in and stand right next to him the entire time. Spencer's eyes were wide and somewhat pleading and Will sighed, "You're right, yeah. I'll wait outside."

Spencer smiled gratefully and practically ran toward the bathroom. Will frowned, but moved to stand outside of the door. His chest felt heavy with all the talking he'd been doing and he stared down at the ground trying to work his way back to pushing everything neatly away behind the forts in his mind. He didn't need to spend tonight analyzing everything about himself.

He leaned back against the wall for a couple of minutes and wondered what was taking Spencer so long. He checked his watch and decided against going in. Spencer deserved some space for himself.

After five minutes, Will knew something was wrong, but couldn't find it in him to rush into the bathroom. He waited another five minutes before going in.

It was entirely empty inside, except for a small black bracelet lying shattered on the floor. He knelt and picked it up, looking around for any way Spencer could have gotten out of the bathroom without him seeing. He spotted the second entrance on the opposite side of the bathroom and sighed. Of course.

He _should_ have called Hannibal then, but he didn't. He pocketed the bracelet and left the bathroom, making a careful search of the library before going about the rest of his day. He didn't need to interrupt Hannibal's day and the more time Spencer had the better.

* * *

It was just after one o'clock whenever Hannibal headed home early – he wanted to surprise Spencer and Will since they had been surprisingly well behaved, especially Will for helping to lift Spencer's mood with those DVDs.

Though he personally loathed animals, he was leading a small black Pomeranian by a leash and he unhooked it as they entered the house, the dog yapping loudly as she raced inside, her nails clacking a bit against the floor.

Out of habit, he pulled out his phone to check to see where Spencer was, considering finding them and surprising them before they got home. However, when he turned it on the GPS couldn't locate the device and Hannibal's eyes darkened.

The only reason it couldn't be tracked would be if it had been broken.

He called Will on the phone he'd given him, some part of him trying to sooth the rest of his mind, telling him not to be angry until he knew for sure that something was wrong.

Will's voice was nervous on the other end of the line and Hannibal's anger flared again.

"Where is Spencer?" he demanded, already leaving the house, slamming the door behind the yapping little dog he was now considering strangling.

"…He… He's not here, Hannibal. He went to the bathroom and broke the device somehow and he's gone."

"And you didn't call me?"

"He deserved a chance," Will's voice was soft and Hannibal fought to reign in his anger, his tone still smooth and even despite the storm raging beneath the surface.

"Where did he escape?"

"Hannibal –"

"Where did he escape, Will?"

* * *

Spencer had only left Will behind at the library half an hour earlier, but he still felt slightly disoriented. He hadn't seen much of Florence; he and Will never went very far from the house they were staying in and if Hannibal took him anywhere it was at night when he couldn't see well enough to find the street signs.

He also didn't speak very much Italian – what he knew was most mangled Spanish and probably unhelpful. He had been looking for either a police station or a payphone, but he hadn't found either was trying to find someone who might be willing to lend him a cell phone.

His eyes tracked the movements of everyone he went past, trying to find someone who didn't look busy or intimidating. He saw a young woman who was pushing a baby in a stroller and talking to a little girl with ice cream down her shirt. She stuck out a bit amongst everyone else and Spencer assumed she was a tourist.

He walked toward her quickly, his heart pounding. He didn't want to say anything to upset her, so he decided to just ask to borrow her phone. He knew how to get in contact with anyone on the team and it would take them no time to find him.

"Excuse me," his smile felt awkward and the woman looked up with a friendly grin. "Would you mind if I borrowed your phone?" he asked carefully, "I lost mine and -"

"Spencer!"

His entire body went ridged and he wanted desperately for it to have been his imagination, but then he felt the heavy hand come down over his shoulder and he fought not to grimace. Hannibal's fingers squeezed tightly.

"There you are," Hannibal said gently. He sounded calm, but tension was rolling off of him in waves and Spencer could practically see his anger, "I was worried I had lost you."

The woman looked somewhat confused, "Do you still need my phone?" she asked, pulling her cell from her pocket and holding it up.

"That's quite alright," Hannibal smiled at her, "I'm sorry to trouble you, Ma'am. Spencer has never been to Florence and we were separated."

Her eyes darted between them, looking vaguely suspicious, "Um… okay. If you're sure…?" she looked directly at Spencer, expecting him to answer. Hannibal's fingers squeezed again and Spencer nodded.

"I'm fine," he managed to say, "I'm sorry."

She nodded and turned back to her kids while Hannibal tugged him away, his grip becoming painful as they moved toward the car.

"Hannibal -" he tried to say something, but Hannibal only gripped harder. Bruises were going to be there in the morning.

"Don't speak, Spencer," Hannibal warned him, "We will discuss this when we are home."

* * *

"Sit," Hannibal directed as soon as they entered the kitchen, his eyes cold and distant. Spencer hesitated and bit his lip.

"Hannibal…"

"Sit!" he pushed Spencer down into the chair roughly, ignoring the way Spencer winced.

"Hannibal," Will stepped forward, "I know you're -"

The little dog suddenly burst into the kitchen, barking excitedly at the sight of new people. Hannibal glared at the dog and went to kick it, but Will scooper her up before he could.

"What is this?"

"I would think of all people you would recognize a dog, William," there was still acid in Hannibal's tone despite how incredibly calm he sounded. He still hadn't yelled or even raised his voice. Will wondered if he ever screamed.

"I know it's a dog, I just meant… Why is it here?"

Hannibal studied him for a moment, "It was going to be a surprise for the two of you," he said, "Now, however, I'm considering if she might be dinner."

Will's eyes widened, "NO!" he said, "You can't!"

"You allowed Spencer to escape," Hannibal said, "You weren't even going to tell me he was gone. And you, Spencer…" he tsked at him and Spencer tried to shrink in the chair. He wasn't sure what Hannibal was going to do, but the sight of the little black dog had his stomach in knots and he felt a pit of guilt in his gut.

Hannibal had been trying to do something _nice_. He felt like he'd betrayed him somehow and he didn't know where that feeling was coming from because intellectually he knew it was stupid to feel like he'd betrayed the man who had kidnapped him.

"The fate of the dog remains to be seen," Hannibal said, "You will have to be punished, Spencer."

Spencer swallowed and nodded; he'd already known that.

"You will not be allowed outside again until you can prove I can trust you," Hannibal said, "In fact, I don't think you'll be going anywhere without me by your side. When I leave for work you will be confined to the bedroom -"

"Isn't that harsh?" Will cut in, frowning up at him from his spot on the floor, holding the dog.

"Clearly, I cannot trust you either, William," Hannibal said without turning to look at him. His eyes roved over Spencer with a dark look and he continued, "Tomorrow night I have an errand to run. You will accompany me."

"You mean you're killing someone," Will said.

Hannibal inclined his head and Spencer tensed.

"You promised I wouldn't have to kill anyone else," he whispered, staring up at Hannibal desperately.

"I am not asking you to kill anyone," Hannibal said, "You will simply be there."

"You want me to watch you kill someone,"

"Yes,"

Spencer looked pained but he nodded slowly, "Okay…"

Hannibal smiled faintly, petting his hair gently, "Good. Now, go to the bedroom. You will remain there until dinner is ready."

He did as he was told and Will watched him leave the kitchen with sad eyes. His fingers dug into the dog's fur and he looked up at Hannibal.

"He misses his friends," he said, "Why can't you just let him go home?"

"Because, William," Hannibal turned to him, "I do not like losing my possessions."

"He isn't a _thing_ for you to own," he snapped, "He's a person."

"And, much like you, he belongs to me," Hannibal said absently, heading toward the refrigerator and pulling it open. His eyes flicked toward Will on the floor. He was letting the dog lick his hands and petting her softly.

"Remove the dog, please," Hannibal's upper lip curled a bit at the sight, "Put it somewhere out of the way for now and wash your hands. You're going to help me prepare dinner."

* * *

After dinner, Spencer was sent back to the bedroom again. He'd hardly said a word unless Hannibal spoke to him. He probably wouldn't have eaten if he hadn't known Hannibal would find that offensive.

"Can I let the dog out now?" Will asked. He hadn't decided to name her yet, worried about what Hannibal would decide to do. If he chose to get rid of the dog, he hoped he'd at least be able to convince him to take her back rather than kill her.

Hannibal paused, "I suppose," he said, "You will be responsible for cleaning up after it."

"That won't be a problem," Will almost smiled. He'd taken care of a dozen dogs at once; he could handle one small Pomeranian.

He started toward the guest bedroom where he'd put her earlier and then paused, "Hannibal…" he hesitated, "can I take her in to see Spencer?"

Hannibal's jaw twitched just slightly.

"You can't pretend you're surprised that he wants to get out of here," Will said, "He does deserve some happiness, doesn't he?"

Hannibal sighed, "Alright," he said, "but do not let the dog on the bed."

Will almost rolled his eyes again, but he didn't think Hannibal would be too happy with that so instead he thanked him and hurried to get the dog from the guest room.

He held her in his arms when he went into the bedroom and smiled at Spencer's bright expression. He sat the dog down and she ran right to the bed. Spencer stood and bent down to pet her, seeming a bit awkward as she licked at his fingers.

"You alright?"

Spencer glanced up and his lips tightened, he turned back toward the dog, "Dogs don't usually like me…" he said lightly, settling cross legged on the floor so that he could hold her when she tried to jump on him.

Will sighed and followed his example, sitting across from him, "Well she seems to," he said.

"He's going to let you keep her?"

"I think so…" Will said.

"What are you going to name her?"

"I'm not sure…" Will reached over and scratched her ears while Spencer tentatively ran his fingers through the fur on her back.

"I was thinking about Jackie."

"Jackie?"

The little dog barked loudly, turning around in Spencer's lap. Will laughed and nodded, "Yeah, I like Jackie. Plus, she was my favorite character on that stupid show…"

"Hey! It is not stupid!" Spencer snapped, but he was smiling and Will knew he was feeling at least a little better.

Will shrugged, "Alright, maybe not as stupid as I thought it was…"

"I told you," Spencer said, a bit smugly.

"You did…" Will sat back for a minute, just watching Spencer play with the dog. He seemed happy, if only just for that moment. He hoped Hannibal wouldn't do anything else to make Spencer as depressed as he had been the night before. He didn't like seeing him look so distant and sad.

He stayed in the bedroom with Spencer for nearly half an hour before Hannibal came and told him it was time to go. Will picked up Jackie and said goodnight, glancing back toward Spencer briefly before shutting the door with a soft click behind him.

* * *

**A/N: **Hannibal is so not finished punishing Spencer yet. Just wait. Next chapter features some bad stuff.

Also, yeah, no one here is anywhere near psychologically stable at the moment. Poor Reid is so confused and Will's got no idea how to reconcile his guilt and his feelings for Hannibal with what Hannibal is and Hannibal's... Hannibal. And all these fucked up people are just dragging me along with them.

Don't forget to review!


	27. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Fourteen

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Wow, look at that! An update that's on time again! So ridiculously proud of myself right now.

Anyway. Thanks as always to everyone who reviewed and for everyone reading! I hope you're all enjoying the fic!

Warnings for this chapter include: murder, gore, non-consensual drug use, dangerous medical procedures, non-consensual medical procedures, violence, torture. This chapter's pretty bad guys, not gonna lie. Please proceed with caution.

Don't forget to review!

* * *

**Part 13: ****Blinding**

**Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

"You seem tense, Spencer," Hannibal knelt beside him, putting a hand on his arm gently. Spencer pressed his lips together and got to his feet, shrugging.

"I'm still waiting for you to actually do something," he admitted.

"Do something?"

"You haven't punished me yet," Spencer said, "I'm waiting for that."

Hannibal smiled at him, "You don't think that making you watch me take someone's life is your punishment?"

"I think you were going to make me do that anyway," Spencer said, "and confining me to the house and the bedroom is just your way of keeping me in sight. It's not punishment."

Hannibal nodded thoughtfully, his fingers tangling in Spencer's hair, "You are right..." he said, "You will have to be reminded that you cannot simply run away, Spencer. You belong to me."

"I thought so…" he sounded utterly resigned to whatever Hannibal wanted to do to him. "What are you going to do?"

"I have yet to decide," Hannibal said, "Now, come; you need to shower and then sleep."

He hesitated, "You're going to watch me shower?"

"I am going to shower with you. It is late and I am tired. Come," He took Spencer by the arm and led him into the bathroom, Spencer's feet dragging a bit as a pit formed in the center of his stomach.

* * *

The following morning Hannibal went about his business as usual. He made breakfast, said goodbye to Spencer and Will and locked the door behind him, this time making sure that Will did not have his key to let Spencer out; he didn't want any more mishaps like the day before.

Work wasn't as interesting as it had been in years past; he missed psychiatry, even with the many dull and tedious patients he'd tended to then. Now, working as Dr. Anthony Fell at a small teaching hospital, he rarely had any opportunity for excitement.

Rude patients, impertinent doctors and nurses with little bedside manner were the reasons he'd left the medical field behind in the first place and now he was there again. But of course, he didn't want to start a practice up again and he could still – and did, in fact – toy with the minds of those around him to a more subtle degree.

It was a slow day, but Hannibal had long ago taught himself the necessity of patience and he understood that occasionally one must suffer the tedium of modern life in order to blend in with the common swine around him. He smiled and casually talked with the other doctors, pretended to brush off the rudeness of the patients, occasionally having to remind himself how dangerous it would be to kill someone he had treated.

He spent the majority of time debating about precisely what Spencer's proper punishment would be. It would of course have to be something that would deter any further attempts at escape, permanent enough to be a frequent reminder, but not so terrible that it would completely ruin him.

And finally, he was able to return home, finding Spencer and Will in the bedroom with that dog. His nose wrinkled at the smell, but at least the dog had the intended effect of making the two younger men happy.

Neither of them had noticed him yet, both sitting on the floor with their backs to him, but the dog yapped eagerly at the sight of a new person and zipped from their arms, launching herself right at his feet. He stepped back and fought to resist the urge to stomp on her; at least it was better than being nearly mauled by Will's former pack of strays.

"You're home!" Will jumped to his feet and was quick to grab the dog, holder her in his arms. Hannibal cringed at the thought of all the hair that was now clinging to his clothes.

"Indeed," Hannibal said, "And it is also getting late. You two need to get ready and wash the scent of _dog_ off of you before we leave."

He watched as Spencer's face fell a bit, but they both nodded and went to change clothes while Hannibal gathered his supplies, grateful for the chance to recreate what Will had called his "murder kit".

It took less than twenty minutes to get everything ready and then they were headed out to the car. Spencer was still nervous; he could smell the fear on him as he wrung his hands together. He put his hand on his shoulder, gently pressing.

"Breath slowly, Spencer," he said, "you will be alright."

"It doesn't feel like I will be alright,"

Hannibal smiled, steering him toward the car, "I won't let anything happen to you,"

Spencer frowned as he slid into the backseat, "_You_ already happened to me…" he muttered darkly. Hannibal shut the door with a grin on his face, chuckling as he walked around to the driver's side.

* * *

Reid looked around the room with quiet interest, trying his best to ignore the unconscious woman currently bound and gagged on the floor.

It was a small room – sterile and white with thick walls and shining white tiled floors. There were no windows and only one thick steel door in and out. There was a drain in the center of the room, a metal autopsy table and a small freezer along with a set of faucets and a deep sink off to one wall.

"Jesus, Hannibal…" Will frowned, "how long did it take you to set this place up?"

"A few months," Hannibal was kneeling over the woman, lifting her easily and placing her on the cold table. He positioned her limp limbs the way he wanted them, intently focused on his task.

"Did you have something like this in the States?"

Hannibal eyes flicked to Will, "You already know I did,"

"You never mentioned it," Will frowned, "I assumed I was wrong."

Hannibal merely hummed, beginning to tug the woman's jacket off and then her shirt. It was difficult work to maneuver her body so that he could undress her and he looked up, catching Will's eye.

"Would you be so kind as to assist me, William?"

Hannibal asked it like a question, but Reid was fairly certain that it was only a thinly veiled order. Will hesitated for a moment, but approached the table and began removing her shoes and pants, looking up to watch Hannibal.

"Can I ask what she did?"

"Would it matter?"

"…A little, yeah," Will said, "You're going to kill her. I'm just wondering what your reason is."

Hannibal pursed his lips and motioned for Will to stand back once the woman was fully undressed. He slipped her wrists into leather cuffs and did the same to her ankles, checking to make certain that they were secure before turning his attention to the bag he'd brought; he carefully removed a set of scalpels and knives and a small saw as well as rib spreaders and a pair of gloves. Underneath it all was a thick plastic apron which he sat aside.

He began unbuttoning his jacket and rolling up his sleeves before finally answering Will's question.

"She has atrocious table manners and she picks food from her teeth while eating,"

"Oh, well clearly that means she has to die," Will muttered, frowning.

Hannibal sent him a warning glare and Will sighed, stepping back to stand beside Reid, who was still right next to the door, watching with wide eyes as the scene played out.

"You alright?"

"You seem very calm considering a woman is about to be brutally murdered,"

"Do you expect me to stop him?" Will asked.

"No… but you aren't even going to try," Reid said, "It just seems like you're very unbothered by all of this."

"I've seen it all," Will said, "and I know him. This woman is going to die. We can't change that."

"Maybe you don't want to change that,"

"Spencer…"

"You know what he is and what he does and you try to pretend that you don't really care, but somewhere inside, you're fascinated by this. You can see exactly what he feels and it should bother you, but it doesn't. And _that_ bothers you."

Will felt like Spencer had just stabbed him, but he tried not to let it bother him. He'd spent a lot of time building up his anger at Hannibal and he'd spent a lot of time trying shove it all away. Sometimes he could hear Hannibal's words in his mind, like a recording on loop: _We're just alike._

He could never quite decide if Hannibal was right or not.

The woman started to stir on the table and Hannibal slid the gloves onto his hands, flexing his fingers for a moment before leaning over her, pulling her eyelid open to peer inside. He glanced up at Will and Spencer, pretending he hadn't just heard their conversation, and motioned them forward.

"Stand here, Spencer," he said, "beside me. Do not move unless I tell you to."

Reid tensed and his heart started to ache in his chest, but he did as he was told, standing right next to Hannibal with less than a foot of distance between them. He looked down at the woman, whose eyes were fluttering open.

She started to tug at her bonds, her face scrunching up a bit as she slowly became aware. Her eyes fluttered again and she blinked herself awake, yanking at the bonds with a new fervor, letting out a whimper when she finally realized what was happening.

She asked something in Italian, her words flowing together too fast to be discernable. Not that words really mattered to Reid; her voice pitched high and warbled violently, her eyes wide and her lips trembling.

"Shh," Hannibal whispered, picking up a scalpel. He said something in Italian, his accent marring some of the words, but still coming through clear enough. Whatever he'd said, it certainly didn't calm the woman down as she started tugging harder at the restraints and her eyes roved around the room, pleading with Will and Spencer.

She was speaking again, but Reid still didn't understand her. He caught some familiar words – _God, please _and _no_. He shivered and felt sick to his stomach, wanting to press his hands over his eyes to make the sight of her begging go away. He felt instantly guilty because he should have been trying to think of ways to save her, not ways to lessen his own discomfort.

He definitely deserved this.

The first scream came seconds later when Hannibal put the scalpel to her stomach and began cutting into her. She thrashed and screamed, her words jilted and frantic now, tearing streaming down her face.

Blood welled from the cuts, gushing down her body and onto the cold metal table; the more she struggled the more she bled. She scratched uselessly at the table, her screams growing louder and less coherent as Hannibal carefully cut her abdomen wide open, flaying the flesh from her body to display her organs, shining and wet inside.

Hannibal reached a gloved hand inside of her, studying her organs before gently pulling out one of her kidneys, followed by the other and then her spleen. She was gurgling now, unable to scream. Blood dribbled from her mouth and she started to choke.

Reid wished Hannibal would just kill her so she'd stop making any noise at all. The look in her eyes was far away and foggy; he wondered if she was even mentally present and hoped she wasn't.

When Hannibal began cutting into her chest Reid's hand shot out unconsciously, gripping his wrist tightly. He was pale and shaking, his eyes too wide.

Hannibal turned to him, raising a brow curiously.

"Can't you just kill her…?" he whispered, "She's barely alive anyway."

Hannibal seemed to consider that before he nodded slowly. Suddenly, he was behind Reid, gripping the young man's wrist with the bloody gloves, the feeling slick and sticky against his skin. Reid shuddered and then flinched then the cold metal of the knife was pressed into his palm and his fingers instinctively closed around it.

Without a word, Hannibal guided Spencer's hand to her throat and sliced through the skin with one quick burst of pressure, smiling when Spencer turned a bit green. He lurched away from Hannibal and rushed to the sink, vomiting inside of it and shaking so badly he could hardly stand.

He could hear the sounds of her dying: gurgling a bit, gasping to catch a few more breaths of air before finally expiring. He clenched his eyes shut and vomited again, pressing his head against the cold sink, turning it on and splashing water over his face.

A hand at his back made him spin around and he saw Will standing there, watching him nervously.

"Spencer -"

"Don't touch me," he gasped, shaking his head and sinking down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Please. Just don't touch me."

Will nodded and moved away, leaving him along on the floor. Hannibal was still working over the now dead woman, cutting her chest wide open and spreading her ribs apart, the bones cracking and echoing in the room. With every soft noise Spencer flinched, but he found that he couldn't take his eyes off of Hannibal, staring while he cut her lungs out.

Hannibal stripped the gloves off and then the apron, tossing the gloves away and washing the apron clean. He scrubbed his hands and then finally turned to look at Spencer.

"Spencer," he slowly approached him, kneeling in front of him and reaching out toward him. Reid flinched, but didn't jerk away entirely and Hannibal ran his hand over his face, cupping his cheek gently.

"Hannibal," Will stepped forward, "maybe you should give him some space, he -"

Will stopped when Hannibal's free hand moved with blurring speed, suddenly pressing something into Spencer's leg. Reid gasped and tried to shove back, but Hannibal pressed his hand over his mouth.

"Shh," he said, "it's alright, Spencer…" he whispered.

"What the hell did you just do?" Will stepped forward, frowning now as Hannibal slowly stood. Will caught just the briefest glimpse of a needle before it disappeared inside Hannibal's pocket again.

"Get him up and undress him," Hannibal said, heading toward the table and beginning to move the body and clean the blood away.

Will didn't move, his eyes on Spencer, who was looking incredibly out of it: his pupils blown wide and his breathing shallow. He was blinking slowly - _open, shut, open, shut_ \- and his body seemed to have turned to jello.

"What did you do?" he demanded, turning to glare at Hannibal.

Hannibal's eyes flashed as he wiped the table down, "Will, do what I told you."

"No,"

"William," the warning was clear, but Will didn't care. Something was building up inside his chest and threatening to burst free.

"What did you do to him, Hannibal?" he asked quietly, "What's going on?"

"Did you imagine I was joking when I said he would have to be punished, Will?"

Will frowned, glancing back at Spencer, who still hadn't moved and didn't appear to be interested in their conversation at all. He was staring at the body, now laid out of the floor.

"What exactly is his punishment then?"

Hannibal's eyes bore into Will, cold and hot at the same time. "Nothing he won't recover from,"

"Hannibal…" Spencer suddenly spoke, his voice airy and distant, "…there's a dead woman on your floor…"

"Yes there is, Spencer," Hannibal nodded, "Do you think you could stand for me?"

Spencer frowned and attempted to stand, but his legs wouldn't hold him and he shook his head, the movement slow and exaggerated.

"No… I… I don't feel right…"

"It's alright," Hannibal spoke gently, like he was talking to a child, "I'll help you." He started to move toward him, but Will stepped in the way, frowning.

"Hannibal, don't,"

"If you are not going to assist me then I must ask you to step aside, Will," Hannibal said, "I do not have time for this."

"I'm not going to sit here and watch you torture him!"

"It is not torture," Hannibal chided, "Now please move."

Will's fists tightened and without thinking he lashed out, landing a good solid punch to Hannibal's face. Hannibal stumbled back, blinking. He touched the side of his mouth and pulled his fingers away to see blood there. He looked back at Will, who met his gaze with a cold one of his own.

"That was very unwise, Will," Hannibal spoke softly. Will stood where he was in front of Spencer, watching Hannibal carefully.

Hannibal lunged toward him, slamming him to the floor. Will kicked and fought and bit down when Hannibal's arm passed too close, eliciting only a faint hiss from the older man, though it was clear Hannibal wasn't quite as in shape as he use to be. He was beginning to feel the pressure of his age, his body moving stiffly and slower than Will's.

For a moment, Will felt like he might actually win – he had Hannibal pinned beneath him, hands on his throat and he was squeezing blindly, breathing too fast, heart beating painfully hard in his chest – but then Hannibal jerked a knee up and into Will's groin, his face red with the exertion. Will's grip slipped and Hannibal pushed him off, spinning them around so that Will was beneath him. He wrapped and arm tightly around Will's throat and slammed his head into the hard floor, satisfied when Will went limp in his arms.

He only took a moment to catch his breath before standing and straightening his shirt. He moved to the sink where Spencer was sitting and splashed water on his face to cool himself down before smoothing his hair back in place and kneeling once more beside the young man.

"…Did you kill, Will?"

Spencer's voice was small, void of real emotion, though his eyes were round and terrified.

"No, Spencer," Hannibal ran his fingers through his hair, "I simply knocked him unconscious. He will wake eventually. Now, let me help you stand…"

"O-okay…" Spencer frowned as Hannibal lifted him up and guided him toward the table. He sat him down and began undressing him, Spencer slowly catching on and helping him. His long fingers fumbled and he was more a hindrance than help, but Hannibal didn't mind, smiling faintly at him as he worked.

As he pulled off his pants, Spencer look up, "Why are we taking off my clothes?"

"Because they would be in the way, Spencer," Hannibal said gently, pushing him down so that he was lying flat on the table.

"Oh…" Spencer's brow furrowed. His mind was hazed over with the drug and he wasn't really sure what was going on just yet. "Why would they be in the way? …We aren't going to have sex here are we? There's a dead body…"

Hannibal smiled and shook his head, binding Spencer's hands and feet and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Not here, no," he assured him.

"…Are you going to kill me?"

He ran his hands through Spencer's hair, "I would not kill you, Spencer,"

"I wish you would…" his head tilted back so that he could look Hannibal in the eye, "I wish you would kill me. Or just never stop touching me… because then if you didn't stop touching me I wouldn't feel like there was something wrong with me…"

Hannibal ran his hand gently down Spencer's bare chest and kissed him again, this time on the mouth, Spencer's lips pliant and soft beneath his.

"There is nothing wrong with you, Spencer,"

"Yes there is," Spencer sounded absolutely adamant, his voice still soft and utterly emotionless.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because I love you, and that's not good. That's like saying you love the devil… I don't want to. But you make me and I don't know how to stop anymore…"

Hannibal chuckled and kissed him again, pressing a kiss to his lips once more before picking up his scalpel. It glinted in the light and Spencer studied it like he'd never seen a blade before.

"Are you _sure_ you aren't going to kill me?"

"Quite sure," Hannibal promised, "though I cannot say that this will not hurt. I'm afraid you will probably experience a lot of pain, Spencer. Do you understand?"

"I think so…" Spencer was staring at him, "…is this because I tried to run away?"

"It is…"

"I'm sorry…" he whispered, sounding very much like a child.

"I know you are, Spencer," Hannibal said, "and you won't do it again after this, will you?"

"No," he promised, "I won't. I won't ever run away again."

Hannibal grinned, "Good boy," he said, pressing the scalpel down. Spencer watched as the blood began to flow out, eyes wide at the vibrant red liquid that was spilling out of his body.

And then he began to scream.

* * *

Clarice sighed and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. Six months since Hannibal Lecter had escaped. Six months and no new leads, nothing but false tips and useless whiteboards. And her, stuck in Missing Persons trying to remind herself that she was still doing her job even if it wasn't what she had pictured herself doing.

She knew it sounded morbid, but she just wasn't as excited working at a desk, following leads on people who would likely never be found and many who probably didn't want to be found. She wanted the excitement back – she could still remember the way her heart pounded when she'd caught Jame Gumb. She could still remember the adrenaline rush and the way her scalp had tingled and her hands shook.

The spike of fear and exhilaration. God she missed it. She wanted it back. She wondered if it made her a terrible person to want that, to feel bored with the cases of men who led double lives and left their family without a word, of a woman who vanished on her morning jog, never to be seen again.

She wanted to feel like she was doing something and this just didn't feel like anything but _work_ and it wasn't supposed to be that way.

She pushed back from her desk and headed for the break room, in dire need of coffee and something to eat. She'd hardly finished pouring the coffee when another agent stuck his head inside, eyes searching.

"Hey, Starling," he said, "call for you. Says it important."

She frowned and followed him out, "Who is it?"

"Didn't say,"

She sat the coffee down and picked up the phone, pressing the button next to the blinking light.

"This is Agent Starling,"

"Ah, Miss Starling. So good to finally speak with you. I've read a lot about you," the man's voice on the other end of line was lisped a bit, hard to really understand. It certainly didn't sound familiar.

"Who is this?"

"Of course, of course," the man apologized, "I'm sure you've heard of me, Miss Starling," he said, "My name is Mason Verger."

Clarice blinked. Mason Verger she had heard of. One of the only victims of Hannibal's to actually still be alive. Lucky. Or… unlucky, really, if the stories were true and if the case file was anything to go by.

"I have heard of you," she nodded, "What exactly is it you want, Mr. Verger?"

"To speak to you," he said, "I hear you got fairly close to Dr. Lecter when you worked with him. I wanted to get your opinion on a few things, find out what you thought of him."

A spark stirred in Clarice's gut, but she shook her head, "I'm sorry, Sir, but the Lecter case is ongoing and I am no longer part of the investigating team. If you want information about it you should try speaking with Agent Crawford -"

"I don't want to speak with Agent Crawford, Miss Starling," he said, "I want to speak with you. Just one conversation can't hurt, can it?"

She frowned, biting her lip. It really couldn't hurt, she knew that, but she was sure Jack wouldn't like it. Of course, Jack had shipped her over to Missing Persons and hadn't spoken to her once in months so why did she care what he thought?

"I believe we can help each other, Miss Starling," Verger said, "We both want the same thing after all."

"And what is that?"

"To catch Hannibal Lecter,"

Clarice breathed in sharply, "Alright, Mr. Verger," she said slowly. "One conversation. Don't expect me to give you any information about the case."

"Of course not," Verger sounded incredibly too please and it turned Clarice's stomach a bit. She knew exactly why Hannibal had attacked him and tried to remind herself that Lecter was still technically the bad guy here.

"Is tomorrow morning alright? Nine o'clock?"

Clarice bit her lip. "That's fine," she said.

"Excellent. I'll have someone pick you up."

* * *

Verger's house was not entirely what Clarice had expected. She should have, she supposed. She knew he was wealthy, but somehow she always pictured the man living in something more appropriate for a child molester. Something small and dirty and dank.

This was… large and overly decorated. A blatant display of wealth and money that was both narcissistic and off-putting. She squared her shoulders and marched to the front door. She was greeted by a who introduced himself as Verger's doctor and led her into the house.

It was strangely empty. No family, no friends. Nothing but dark rooms. He led her up the stairs and knocked gently on the first door on the right, standing slightly open. The answering call matched the voice she'd heard on the phone – the lisp clearer now and the somewhat unnatural quality seemingly magnified.

The doctor pushed the door open and stepped aside, assuring her that he would be right there if anything was needed.

The room was as dark as the rest of the house. It was overly large, big windows sitting at one end, covered in thick curtains. A small sitting area off to one side complete with a table that looked to be antique.

The bed was huge, curtains surrounding it as well, opened partially on the right side facing her. She could only just make out the silhouette of a man sitting there and she fought not to squint at him. She stood quietly until Verger spoke again.

"Ah, Miss Starling," he sounded too pleased again in a way that made Clarice's skin crawl. "I'm glad you could make it. Please, come closer…"

She hesitated, but stepped up to the bed, her eyes skirting around his face for a moment before looking at it fully. She wanted to flinch, but she forced herself not to, taking it in with as stony an expression as she could gather.

Mason Verger didn't even look human any longer. His face was a mass of scar tissue that was utterly unrecognizable. She'd read about what Lecter had done to him, but hadn't seen the photographs. She hadn't been sure she wanted to – seeing the nurse he'd attacked had been bad enough.

She wondered how he saw at all – one eye almost entirely covered with scar tissue that was once his eyelid, the other filmy looking and gross. The lid didn't seem to close all the way. His mouth was partly lopsided, tugging down and off at a strange angle and it was hard to tell if he even had a nose. There was little hair on his head.

If she hadn't known the real cause of his injuries she might's guessed he'd been the victim of a horrible fire.

"Not pleasant is it?"

If Verger could have smiled she thought he would have. As it was, his non-existent lips merely tugged a bit. She wondered if his face was as rubbery as it looked.

"What is it you wanted to speak to me about, Mr. Verger?" she asked, deciding to cut right to the point. She didn't want to spend more time than she needed to in his presence. He made her skin crawl.

"I want to speak to you about Dr. Lecter," he said, "He hasn't been caught yet."

"The FBI is investigating the case, Mr. Verger. Dr. Lecter is smart and he was able to gain quite an insight into the way the bureau works while he was consulting on cases with the BAU."

"Yes," Verger said. "So I had gathered. However, it has come to my attention that the case has been unofficially marked cold."

"There are still agents investigating -"

"Not enough," Verger said, sudden anger in his voice. "Not nearly enough, Agent Starling. Do you imagine that they are going to find him with a small handful of agents? No, Lecter is too good for that. You should be putting all your resources toward his capture."

"With all due respect, Mr. Verger, I understand why you want Hannibal Lecter to be caught, but the fact is: the FBI has active cases with leads they can actually follow, with new bodies dropping all the time. They have to focus on the cases they can solve. It's a matter of priority."

"Lecter should be your top priority,"

"I'm sorry, but that isn't how it works,"

"It could be," Verger said. "As you must be aware I have the money to aid an investigation. It could be simple. You're a smart girl and Lecter liked you. You could help me find him."

Clarice frowned, crossing her arms. "And if you find him what precisely do you intend to do with him?"

That one filmy eye seemed to glint and Clarice wanted to shiver at the sight. "I intend to hand him over to the FBI of course," he said silkily. She fought the urge to retch. The lisping, inhuman sound sliding over her like oil.

"You're a private citizen, Mr. Verger. I'm afraid the FBI can't simply drop their cases to work for you, no matter how much money you have; and even if they could, as I told you on the phone that I'm not involved in the Lecter case any longer."

"No, I know," Verger said, "I heard you'd been reassigned. Did that bother you?"

"We're not here to talk about me, Mr. Verger,"

"I'll bet it did. You want to catch Lecter just as much as I do," he said. "If you worked for me, helped me find him, you could do that. You can be woman who caught Hannibal Lecter."

Clarice pressed her lips together. "Will Graham is the man who caught Lecter," she said, "And we're done here. Goodbye, Mr. Verger, it's been very nice talking to you. I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

She left without waiting to hear what he had to say, still feeling sick inside. She made a mental note to pay close attention to what Verger was doing in the future; she doubted very much if he was going to give up on finding Lecter so easily and she _knew _he had no intentions of handing him over if he did find him.

* * *

Spencer woke with a dull ache going throughout his entire body. Everything was sore and throbbing, his gut most especially. He groaned and grimaced as he cracked his eyes and tried to sit up, only to feel a hand on his shoulder.

"You cannot move just yet," Hannibal's smooth accent spoke from somewhere above him and Spencer squinted, wincing against the light.

He opened his mouth to speak, only to find his throat incredibly dry and painful.

"…Wh-What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

Spencer frowned, resting his head back against the pillow. His eyes were starting to adjust and he realized he was in the bedroom at the house, lying on his back on the bed. He squirmed a bit, wincing as something tugged at his side.

"I… You were killing that woman…" he spoke slowly, "and then you…" he paled and he turned accusing eyes on Hannibal, "You made me kill her. You… you promised you wouldn't…"

Hannibal smiled, petting his hair softly, "I did, but you were the one who suggested I end her life sooner than I wanted. If it's any consolation, I was technically the one wielding the blade; it was simply in your hand when I did it."

"That does not make me feel better," Spencer muttered, closing his eyes and trying not to see that woman lying there with her wide, pleading stare and gagged screams.

"What else do you remember?"

Spencer's brow furrowed. "I vomited. Will tried to talk to me. Then you came over… and you… did something…"

"I drugged you,"

Spencer shuddered, but didn't open his eyes, trying to pull the memory to the surface. It was so hazy. He never had this problem. He remembered everything. He always remembered everything.

"You asked Will something…" he tried to remember what the words were, but all he could see was Hannibal's mouth moving and the sound of Will's voice detached from actual words.

"Then you fought…" he took a breath, eyes still closed tight, "And you led me to the table and…"

His eyes shot open, glistening slightly as he stared up at Hannibal.

"What did you take?" he whispered the words, trying to erase the picture from his mind. Hannibal slicing into him, blood gushing out, the pain and the soothing voice and then the sweet relief of unconsciousness just as Hannibal dug his fingers inside of him.

Hannibal's fingers continued carding through his hair, "Your kidney," he said matter-of-factly. "I debated about what to take for a while. Originally I was going to remove a rib, or your spleen, but I decided against the rib and the risks with the spleen removal would have been higher than I wanted."

Spencer took a deep breath, "…You took my kidney…"

"I did,"

"…Did you eat it?"

"Yes,"

Spencer nodded slowly, "That was my punishment then," he said, "…Appropriate."

"You think so?"

"Well you took part of me and consumed it," Spencer said, "so that I'd know that I belong to you."

Hannibal smiled, nodding slowly. "You will have to remain in bed while you recover," he said, "Will is going to take care of you while I am at work."

Spencer nodded again, "And what about when I'm well enough to get out of bed again?"

"Then you will still be confined to the house," Hannibal said, "though not strictly to the bedroom."

He thought about that for a moment before nodding and then glancing back up at Hannibal, "Can I see Will?"

Hannibal nodded, bending down to kiss his hair gently before leaving.

Once he was gone, Spencer lifted the blanket and pulled back the sheet. He was wearing nothing but his boxers and he could see the thick bandage at his side that was tugging against his skin with each little movement. It didn't hurt as much as he imagined it should have and he was pretty sure that Hannibal was keeping him drugged.

He felt sick to his stomach at the thought, but shoved it away before he could start dwelling on it. There was a soft knock and he dropped the blanket back down, looking up to see Will standing awkwardly in the doorway.

He looked like hell – his face and neck bruised deep purple and green in some places. He wondered how long it had been since his unwilling surgery, but didn't ask.

"You look terrible," he said, trying to crack a smile. Will only partly responded.

"I feel worse," Will said slowly. "You don't look so bad… Not as bad as I thought…"

He sat down in the chair Hannibal had left beside the bed and Spencer reached up to touch the bruises around his throat, frowning.

"Why did you fight him?"

"To stop him from hurting you, Spence," Will said, "Why else?"

"You didn't try to stop him from killing that woman though," Spencer dropped his hand and frowned, "Why am I different?"

"I know you," Will shrugged, "You're my friend. It's a lot easier to watch some nameless woman being butchered than to watch it happen to someone you care about."

"What if he'd killed you?"

"Wouldn't be the first time he's tried,"

Spencer sighed and looked toward the ceiling, thinking. Will stared down at his hands for a long moment before cautiously leaning over to move Spencer's hair from his face where it was hanging.

"I am sorry, you know," Will said, "I'm sorry you're here, I'm sorry this is so fucked up. I'm sorry he's a sick bastard."

"At least I have you…" Spencer whispered.

"Because I'm such wonderful company," Will muttered, frowning down at Spencer. Spencer shrugged, or tried to anyway, and smiled a bit.

"Better than being here alone,"

Will was quiet for a moment before nodding, "Yeah, I suppose that's true…" He started to stand, then hesitated, still staring at Spencer carefully, like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do.

He leaned down before he could stop himself and kissed him. It was quick and chaste, a soft touch of lips on lips, but it felt like more than that to Spencer. He blinked up at Will and started to say something but, Will pulled away too fast and stood, cutting him off.

"I should go. Hannibal wants me to help with dinner. I'll check on you later, alright?"

Dumbly, Spencer nodded, pressing his lips together and trying to figure out exactly when his life had become so damn complicated.

* * *

**A/N: **You may or may not be surprised to know that this is NOT the first time I've ever written Reid having an organ unwillingly removed while he was awake. Except that time, it was his spleen and he was fully aware and not addled with mind-altering drugs. I also remember promising I'd never write something like that again, but... Who am I to argue with Hannibal when he says he wants Reid's kidney?

Also, fair warning: Margot Verger does not appear in this story. At the time that I wrote this, season two had not started and I had yet to read the novel _Hannibal_, but I had seen the film. I had only vague snippets of info on Margot's character and didn't want to risk messing her up, so I went for the film canon where Margot (sadly) does not exist. I wish I'd written her into the story now because she's become one of my favorite characters, but alas...

Anyway. More fucked up fun on the way! Please don't forget to review!


	28. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Fifteen

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **A day late. Sorry guys. I was having a bit of a bad day and just... yeah. Anyway.

Thanks as always for your lovely reviews and thoughts!

Warnings for this chapter include: sexual situations of the (mostly) consensual variety; jealous Hannibal; depression and Stockholm Syndrome; murder of the non-graphic variety.

Please review!

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding **

**Chapter Fifteen**

* * *

Hannibal's hands were tangled in Will's hair, tugging at the sweat drenched curls roughly. Will groaned and thrust his hips forward, burring himself deeper inside the older man. His breathing was labored and he could hardly see with his glasses gone and his hair sweeping down toward his eyes.

Hannibal lay beneath him, strong fingers roaming the younger man's body, occasionally digging his nails in hard enough to draw blood. There were half a dozen little wounds oozing blood down Will's back and thighs.

His hands slid from Will's hair and scratched down his back, leaving long red welts there. Will hissed and his eyes fluttered.

"J-Jesus, Hannibal…" he moaned, "Are you trying to rip me open with your fingers?"

Hannibal smirked and gripped Will's hips, flipping them over so that he was resting on Will's thighs, bending down to press his lips along his jaw, biting lightly.

"Perhaps…" he said, taking control of the pace and moving faster than Will could keep up with. Will gasped and his eyes rolled back, biting down hard on his lower lip. His hands fumbled for a moment before grabbing purchase at his hips, fingers digging in for a moment.

Eventually, his hands slid between Hannibal's legs, wrapping around the hard flesh and exploring the familiar organ.

Hannibal's rapid thrusts faltered for a moment, but he soon regained his control, shoving harder and pushing Will deeper inside of him than he'd thought possible. Will's fingers felt numb around him and his arms fell back to the bed. It didn't take long for him to come, eyes rolling back in his head, body convulsing.

Hannibal smiled as he watched Will's face lax and open with his orgasm. It was one of the few times Hannibal was able to watch him come completely undone and it was beautiful.

After a moment, Will's eyes opened and Hannibal carefully slid off of him, his own erection still pulsing hotly against his stomach. Will sleepily rolled over to touch it, but Hannibal moved away.

"It's nearly time for breakfast," he said, "We should shower."

Will groaned and closed his eyes. It took him a considerable amount of time to get off the bed, his body aching pleasantly as he followed him to the smaller bathroom attached to the guest room. Ever since Spencer's "punishment", Hannibal had taken to sleeping in the guest room with Will and allowing Spencer to rest in the master bedroom.

"What's the point of waking me up at six in the morning to have sex if you're not even going to finish?" Will asked, watching as Hannibal turned on the shower and tested the water. There was semen dripping down his leg and he still somehow managed to look entirely at ease and confident.

"Does there need to be a point, Will?" Hannibal stepped into the shower and Will followed immediately, the hot jets washing the rivulets of blood down his body.

"With you, there always is,"

Hannibal smiled faintly, "Perhaps I have somewhat of an agenda," he said, turning to face Will and beginning to wash the younger man without asking. Will frowned and let him, his mind more focused on the conversation at hand.

"What agenda?"

"I have invited a few colleagues of mine to a dinner party," he began and Will groaned, already knowing where he was going, "and unfortunately the freezer is quite barren. I've had little time to restock since Spencer's surgery."

Will snorted at the word surgery and pulled away from Hannibal's hands, "You want me to help you then,"

"It would be appreciated," Hannibal said. Will scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed.

"I'll think about it,"

"That is all I ask,"

* * *

Spencer woke slowly, sitting up in increments so he didn't disturb his side too much. He glanced down out of habit at the healing wound. It had been almost three weeks since Hannibal had drugged him and removed his kidney and he was feeling considerably better. He was able to move around the house without much assistance, though Hannibal still kept a very close eye on him and insisted that he not do too much.

He was only vaguely sore now and aside from one horrible nightmare that had nearly popped the stitches, his recovery had gone smoothly, especially considering that he'd had his kidney sliced out of him while he was strapped to an autopsy table where a woman had just been murdered.

His fingers ran along the pink, raised skin, wincing a bit. It would be a very noticeable scar, he knew that for sure. He pushed the blankets back and refused to look back down at it, dressing as quickly and quietly as he could.

One glance at the clock told him that Hannibal had already left for work and his shoulders relaxed.

Hannibal had given him a surprising amount of space since that night, though he insisted on bathing Spencer himself and often would sit and talk to him for a few hours before retiring to the guest room. It was strange and made Spencer feel just a bit uncomfortable; he'd gotten used to Hannibal's constant vigilance and this weird new attitude only made him fear something worse was coming.

Quietly padding his way to the kitchen he found Will washing dishes.

"Morning," Will said over his shoulder, glancing back when Spencer leaned against the counter to watch him.

Spencer hummed in greeting, his eyes fixed on Will's hands as he rinsed the plates off.

"Breakfast is in the fridge," Will said, nodding toward it, "I didn't want to wake you."

"Thanks…" Spencer said, "I'm not really hungry."

"You should eat,"

A tense silence fell over them and Will dried his hands off on a towel, turning to face him. He pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted at Spencer. He was still pale and the dark circles under his eyes were worse than they had been, but he looked a lot better than he'd looked a few weeks ago.

"Hannibal took the letter you wrote to your mom to be mailed," he said, watching Spencer's expression. His eyes lit up a bit at the news about his letter and he smiled a bit, but otherwise his expression remained impassive.

"Bored?"

He nodded and sighed, wrapping his arms around his midsection, "There isn't exactly a lot to do here. We watch TV, I write my mom, I eat, I shower… Even Jackie gets to go outside everyday when you walk her."

Will chuckled, "True. I'm sorry; I know it's not fair. I could talk to him about letting you go back out again."

Spencer snorted, "So you can take me for a walk like a dog?"

"Spencer…" Will shook his head, "it's not like that."

"Feels like it," he said, "I'm just a thing for him to play with. …I stopped caring a long time ago though."

Will moved to stand next to him, putting his elbows on the counter. "I don't think you're a _thing_," he said quietly.

Spencer just shrugged, staring off at nothing in particular. He glanced over at Will and they met eyes for a second, but Will quickly looked away, turning his attention to Jackie, who padded into the kitchen and found her way to their feet, looking at them with small brown eyes.

He knelt and scratched her ears, murmuring to her quietly while Spencer watched.

"Will," Spencer suddenly spoke, his voice sounding a bit choked and strained. "Earlier… after I first woke up… why did you kiss me?"

Will blinked and stood. Neither of them had broached the subject of the kiss after it had happened, both seeming to have forgotten the event entirely. Will had been somewhat grateful for that, but also annoyed that Spencer had ignored it so completely.

"Because I wanted to," he said, facing Spencer. He came as close as he dared to making real eye contact. Spencer nervously bit down on his lower lip and his breath caught in his throat as his brow furrowed.

"Why?"

Will hesitated, alarms going off in his head telling him that this was probably a very bad idea, but Spencer looked so sad, so lonely and he just wanted to make that dimness in his eyes go away.

He reached up and put a hand on Spencer's neck, fingers tracing over an old bite mark there before he leaned forward and kissed him. Spencer's lips were soft and pliant, parting in surprise. He responded quickly, tilting his head and opening his lips farther, letting Will's tongue slip inside.

Gently, Will pulled back and smiled a bit, pressing another closed mouth kiss to his lips before straightening up.

"Because I like you and you have a very beautiful mouth,"

Spencer's eyes were wide, staring at him like he didn't exactly know what he was supposed to do. After a long second, he nodded and smiled. Cautiously, with nervous eyes and shaking hands, he leaned forward and kissed Will. He moved slowly; the kiss was soft, barely touching his lips at first.

When Will smiled faintly against his mouth, he grew a little bolder and Will let him take control of the kiss, Spencer's fingers reaching up to find his hair, tugging slightly. It wasn't nearly as hard as when Hannibal did it.

They separated again and Will pressed his forehead against Spencer's, his glasses fogging up a bit with their combined breath.

"We should probably not tell Hannibal about this…" he said quietly.

Spencer nodded jerkily, fingers falling away from Will's hair, "That's a good idea,"

* * *

"Do you think there's any chance he could actually help though?" JJ asked Clarice, watching the younger woman curiously. She and Clarice had gotten closer than most of the other members of the team, JJ becoming a sort of mentor for the ambitious agent.

"It's possible," Clarice said, "but whatever Verger does isn't going to be legal. He's got the money to get people to do whatever he wants and he isn't part of the government so he doesn't have to follow the channels we do to get things done."

JJ nodded thoughtfully, "If he is able to find Lecter… you don't think he's going to turn him in do you?"

Clarice's lip quirked a bit and she shook her head, "That is extremely unlikely," she said, "Verger wants Dr. Lecter to pay for what he did to him. He's going to want to make him suffer, to torture him."

JJ bit her lip, "We don't have anything to get a warrant on Verger," she said, "but it's worth the risk to set up surveillance. I know Morgan and Blake will help and I can talk to Hotch. You said he's been making contact with known criminals?"

Clarice nodded, "I've been watching who comes and goes for the last few weeks. There have been a few new faces the last couple of days. I recognized two of them from cases I've worked in Missing Persons. They're suspected members of a human trafficking ring working outside the States. We don't have much on them…"

"We can use that though," JJ stood, "I'll get Garcia to do some digging on Verger's new friends. She might be able to hack into his computers and see if he has anything useful."

"Isn't that illegal?" Clarice frowned and raised a brow.

JJ met her eyes and shrugged, "As long as you aren't in the room when it happens you have plausible deniability," she said, "It wouldn't be the first time Garcia's bent the rules a bit."

Clarice smiled and shook her head, "Plausible deniability…" she said quietly. "When I joined the FBI I always thought agents would be less inclined to break the rules."

JJ shrugged, pulling her phone out when it started buzzing, "Sometimes rules are meant to broken, Starling," she said, "And this is personal. Rules don't apply."

She walked away to answer the phone, giving her an apologetic look and Clarice sighed, watching her for a moment. What she was doing was technically against the rules and bordering on illegal, but she felt like she was doing something for a change. Like things were slowly beginning to come together.

She still hadn't talked to Jack Crawford in months, but she kept up with the case with Beverly whenever she got the chance. Things weren't going well and Jack was getting frustrated. She was tempted to let him know about her suspicions on Verger, but she didn't. Jack would latch on to the lead and bleed it utterly dry and nothing would actually come of it.

She and Hotchner's team had a sort of silent agreement that they would go to Jack if they actually had solid evidence, which they didn't.

"Starling!" her SAC leaned his head into the conference room where she and JJ had been talking, "That insurance company you called about the Johnson case is on the line."

She nodded and quickly followed him out, trying to force her mind back on the actual case she was working, all the while her thoughts swirling with thoughts of Hannibal Lecter and Mason Verger.

* * *

Spencer was still up whenever Will and Hannibal returned home at nearly two thirty in the morning, carrying containers filled with organs for Hannibal's upcoming dinner party. Hannibal had targeted two people that night, a couple who had been particularly annoying in the waiting room while he had been trying to discuss something with another patient's husband.

Will left Hannibal to put the containers away in the freezer and sat next to Spencer on the couch, stepping carefully around a sleeping Jackie. Hannibal refused to let the dog on the furniture and Will had trained her well enough that she mostly avoided the beds and chairs, but she still had to be chased off the couch.

"Hey," he said quietly, "You alright?"

"You helped him kill someone tonight," Spencer didn't look at him when he spoke.

Will looked down at his hands. There was no blood there and he'd worn gloves, but he could still see it there like he'd dipped his hands in a vat of it. He glanced over at Spencer and nodded.

"I did,"

"Why?"

"Because he asked me to," Will said quietly.

"That's a terrible reason to kill someone,"

"It is,"

"Then why did you really do it?" there was an edge to Spencer's voice and Will clenched his fist, trying to banish the image of the couple, pleading for their lives, from his mind. His stomach churned a little, but his body was still tingling with adrenaline, with the excitement of taking a life.

"Because… I wanted to," Will whispered.

He waited for Spencer to tell him how terrible that made him, how disgusted he was, but Spencer just kept staring forward. After a moment, he leaned over and put his head on Will's shoulder, sighing heavily.

"We're all incredibly screwed up aren't we?" he asked quietly.

Will laughed and managed to smile a bit, touching Spencer's hair briefly, "Yeah, we're all pretty fucked in the head I guess…"

Hannibal stood in the doorway, watching the two of them with a curious light in his eyes. After a minute, he cleared his throat, "It's late," he said, "You two should get some sleep. You already sleep poorly enough as it is…"

He followed Spencer to the master bedroom, his hand lingering at the small of his back as he guided him there in spite of Spencer's uncomfortable tension. He kissed his hair gently and told him goodnight, smiling when Spencer turned toward him and touched his hand softly before he left.

Will was already dressed down to his boxers and t-shirt, sitting on the bed with Hannibal's tablet in his hands, the screen glowing brightly. Hannibal undressed slowly, without a word, and sat next to him, glancing curiously at what Will was reading.

"I wasn't aware that you still kept up with Miss Lounds' articles," Hannibal said lightly.

Will frowned and sat the tablet to the side, shrugging, "I was curious," he muttered.

"Did she have anything interesting to say?"

"No," Will's lips quirked a bit, "Nothing new anyway. She seems to think the FBI isn't even trying to find you anymore and she's spent a lot of time talking about Jack throwing Starling to the side once the leads dried up."

Hannibal pursed his lips slightly and filed that information away for later use. He had liked Starling; he had no doubt she was unhappy with Crawford casting her out once she was no longer useful. But for the moment, he had other matters to attend to.

He pulled the covers back and glanced at Will curiously, "What is going on between you and Spencer?"

Will froze and turned toward him cautiously, "Nothing…"

Hannibal sighed, "Do not lie to me, William, it annoys me."

Will sighed, "Nothing, Hannibal, really," he insisted, "He's my friend."

"Friend…" Hannibal mused, "But you would like for there to be more."

"W- No!" Will had gone extremely pale, his eyes darting nervously around Hannibal's face. "There isn't anything -"

"William,"

Will gritted his teeth, "He's a good person," he said, "I like him. There's nothing going on."

"But you've thought about it," Hannibal said. It wasn't a question. "You've imagined it, haven't you, Will? Do you think I don't notice the way you look at him sometimes? Do you think I don't know that you think about _fucking_ him."

Will shivered at Hannibal's tone. It was cold and empty and his eyes were boring a hole into the side of his head. He gripped his fists tightly, the knuckles white, and shook his head.

"I have not imagined that," Will snapped, "He's already got you to psychologically scar him."

Hannibal reached out and grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look him in the face.

"I just told you not to lie to me,"

Will yanked his face away and glared at him, "I'm not lying," he said harshly. "I haven't touched him."

Hannibal's eyes searched his and he leaned back, "See that you don't," he warned him, "Spencer belongs to me, Will, and if I haven't made it clear, I do not share."

* * *

**A/N: **Will and Spencer are flirting with disaster a bit. This'll be fun.

Don't forget to review!


	29. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Sixteen

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews! Hope you guys continue to enjoy the story!

Warnings for this chapter include: not much, really. Cannibalism, Stockholm Syndrome, manipulation, lighthearted threats of animal murder (though no animals are harmed, I promise), mentions of murder and gore. Pretty tame, all things considered.

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding  
**

**Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

"Looks like Verger is getting ready to send his new friends on a trip," Garcia said, glancing over her shoulder. Clarice, Morgan and JJ all stood there, watching the glowing monitors of her computers.

"He purchased four tickets to the UK early this morning," she continued, "Considering his medical condition I doubt Verger's going on the trip himself."

"Where are they going, exactly?" Clarice asked, frowning.

"London," Garcia said.

"London?" JJ frowned, "Why London?"

"Verger must've found out about the Alexa Lisbon murder," Morgan said, "That's as far as we can trace Lecter in Europe. It's where Graham disappeared too."

Clarice pressed her lips together, "He retracing their steps," she said, "If he can find a trail in London he can find out where they went to from there."

"We can call Prentiss," JJ suggested, "See if she can keep an eye on them while they're in London and send up any information they manage to pick up."

Morgan nodded, "It's definitely worth a shot," he said, "if these guys can manage to dig up a trail where Scotland Yard couldn't we might have a solid lead. Even if it's just on Graham…"

"Right now anything is better than what we actually have," JJ nodded.

A knock at the door made them all jump and Dr. Bloom stood in the door, watching them with a confused expression as Garcia hurriedly clicked out of the screens she'd been showing them.

"Agent Starling, could I talk to you for a minute?"

Clarice nodded and followed Alana out of the office, a small pit of worry nagging at her gut. She hadn't spoken to Dr. Bloom at all since Will Graham's disappearance. Alana had gone back to Chicago and only showed up in Quantico every month or so to talk to Jack about the case.

"Is something wrong, Dr. Bloom?" Clarice asked, glancing at the other woman as they walked down the hall.

"Not wrong," Alana said, "not really. I just wanted to ask you something…" she stopped and turned, staring at Clarice with piercing eyes. It made Clarice shift a bit and she crossed her arms defensively, frowning.

"I heard you got a call from Mason Verger," Alana said.

Clarice raised a brow and Alana continued, "Your SAC is an old friend," she said, "he pointed it out last time we were talking about the Lecter case."

"I did speak with him,"

"And?"

"And Verger seems upset that the case is going cold and there aren't new leads," Clarice said, "he wants the bureau to investigate."

"What's your opinion on Verger, Agent Starling?"

Clarice pursed her lips, "My opinion is that Mason Verger was barely human when Dr. Lecter attacked him and he's even less than that now."

Alana nodded, "Can I ask why you didn't alert Agent Crawford to Verger's interest in the case?"

"I would assume Agent Crawford already knows," Clarice said stiffly, "Verger hasn't made his _interest_ in the case a secret, after all. He's been involved in it since Lecter escaped."

"Still, Jack should be aware of any updates in the case, don't you think?"

"Absolutely," Clarice nodded, turning away, "and if I had any updates to give Agent Crawford he would have them."

Alana half jogged to keep up with Clarice and the young agent gritted her teeth in annoyance.

"Have you spoken to Will's fiancée?" she asked, "She was calling regularly wasn't she?"

"Molly Foster stopped calling two months ago," Clarice said, "She's apparently accepted that Will isn't going to be coming home any time soon." She sent Alana a sharp gaze and the psychiatrist frowned.

"You don't like me very much, do you, Agent Starling?"

"I never said that,"

Alana smiled ruefully, "Well, either way, I understand. I'm sure I'm extremely annoying; I just want to make sure that the case is getting the attention that it deserves. Will is a good friend."

"Who is likely in league with a sadistic murderer,"

"I can't believe that,"

Clarice nodded, "Which is why you are not investigating the case, Dr. Bloom. You can't dismiss an idea just because you don't like it."

"I doubted Will before," Alana said sternly, "I won't do it again."

* * *

Spencer stumbled out of Hannibal's way as he moved gracefully around the kitchen. There were cuts of meat and organs sitting out, ready to be prepared and Hannibal was gliding at an intense speed around the island, his sleeves rolled up and an apron protecting his clothes.

"Your dinner will be ready shortly, Spencer," Hannibal said, with a brief glance toward him. The young man nodded and quickly left the kitchen, looking back for a moment before settling on the couch with Will.

"I can't believe he's really going to risk this," he whispered, frowning.

"Of course he is," Will said, "He hasn't had a chance to show off in so long his ego is starting to bruise. He's got to do something about that."

"It still seems like a big risk," he said, "Especially considering that they found Mancini's body last week…" he said the name with a bit of a hitch, fighting the memory that sprang immediately to mind.

"If they start finding the other bodies Interpol is going to get interested,"

"If they start finding the other bodies he'll just pack up and leave," Will said with certainty, "He isn't worried about Mancini though."

Spencer pressed his lips together, "Because he didn't kill him…"

Will winced, nodding, "…right,"

"They're still going to notice the missing organs and connect it to Hannibal," there was the slightest hint of hope in Spencer's voice, "The FBI is probably watching for those cases. If they even think it could be him…"

"But any good profiler will be able to tell it doesn't fit his usual pattern," Will said gently, "I doubt you killed him the way Hannibal would have."

He wrapped his arms around his knees and sighed.

"I'm not trying to depress you," Will said, "…I mean, if Jack hears about the body he isn't going to let it go. He already saw Hannibal's kills everywhere before he knew who the Ripper was. He's going to be more desperate now."

He watched Spencer's face. He remained impassive and misty eyed. Will glanced toward the kitchen and could hear Hannibal moving around, the sounds of him cooking floating into the living room.

"It'll be okay," he said, sliding closer and putting an arm around his shoulder. Spencer tensed for a second, following Will's gaze toward the kitchen. When he didn't see any sign of Hannibal he leaned against Will and closed his eyes.

They sat like that for a few minutes before Hannibal's voice came from the kitchen, raised and slightly irritated,

"Will, remove your dog, please, before she ends up on the menu!"

Will rolled his eyes and smiled a bit, hurrying to put Jackie away in the guest room before Hannibal could decide he wanted to feed her to the guests.

* * *

"You are cheating!" Will said, frowning across from Spencer when the young man won yet another hand of cards.

They were sitting on the bed with Jackie sleeping on the floor; the sounds of Hannibal's dinner party were trickling in from the dining room. It was small – especially compared to the parties Hannibal had thrown in Baltimore – but apparently very busy anyway. Hannibal had made Will and Spencer dinner early and sent them to the guest room, locking the door behind them for good measure.

"No, I'm not, I swear," Spencer was smiling at him, his eyes twinkling. "You're just really horrible at Poker,"

Will made a face at him, "My dad taught me to play when I was nine," he said, "I am very good."

"Then I'm just better,"

"You're cheating,"

"I swear I'm not," Spencer hadn't grinned this much since Will had been there. He liked the way he looked when he was really smiling – his eyes were bright, his mouth seemed to cover his entire face and there was something almost childlike in his grin.

Will narrowed his eyes, "Where'd you learn to play Poker anyway?" he asked, "I never would've pegged you for someone who gambles."

"I grew up in Vegas, remember?"

"That explains it," Will muttered.

"Most of it," Spencer said, "I also have an eidetic memory… And I've been banned from every casino in Las Vegas."

"There, see, cheating, like I said,"

"I'm not cheating," he said, "I'm taking advantage of my own natural abilities to win."

"Cheating," Will said, grinning when Spencer stuck his tongue out at him. "Oh, sure, act like a child."

"I'm not allowed to have fun now?"

Will huffed at him, "Does having fun mean you have to cheat?"

"Alright, alright, fine," Spencer sat back against the headboard and shuffled the cards in his hands, "I'll let you win this time."

"_Let_ me win!?"

* * *

It was late when the last of the guests left. Hannibal stacked the dishes in the sink and glanced around. There had only been six people there – doctors from the hospital and their spouses – but it had felt like more. It felt nice, though, to be able to do it again.

He quite enjoyed spending time entertaining the common swill of the world, watching their eyes eagerly follow him, hanging on to everything he said as if he were the most important person in the world. In fact, he was, and he hadn't had a chance to remind them of that in far too long.

He cleaned the kitchen by himself, relishing the silence. Spencer and Will had been quiet for a while and he assume they were sleeping. He was mildly impressed at Will's ability to keep the dog quiet; he had wanted to put her outside, but Will convinced him to allow her to stay in the bedroom.

The kitchen was shining and his body was exhausted by the time he was finished. He slowly rolled his sleeves down again and padded his way to the bedrooms, unlocking the guestroom door and peering inside.

His jaw hardened a bit at the sight.

Spencer and Will were both lying on the bed, on top of the blankets. Will's arm was around Spencer's waist, holding the younger man to his chest, his chin resting on top of Spencer's head.

Fists tight, Hannibal slipped silently into the room and gripped Will's shoulder tugging him away from Spencer. Spencer mumbled and his eyes scrunched up but he didn't wake. Will blinked slowly and jerked away from his touch.

"H-Hannibal?"

"Sleep in the master bedroom, tonight, Will," he said, "I will stay with Spencer."

"But -"

"Now, Will," Hannibal pulled him from the bed and Will stumbled, his limbs still trying to adjust to the sudden change. He caught himself before he fell.

He glanced back down at Spencer for a second before nodding, "Good night," he whispered. Hannibal watched him leave, waiting for the sound of the door clicking closed before turning his attention back toward the sleeping man on the bed.

He undressed slowly, blood pulsing against his temples. He leaned over and gently shook Spencer awake, shifting him a bit to get the blankets out from underneath him.

He looked around the dark room blearily, "Where's Will?"

"Sleeping in the other bedroom for tonight," Hannibal said, sliding under the covers and pulling them over Spencer as well. Spencer tensed for a moment, his eyes darting toward the door.

Hannibal pulled him close, wrapping his arms around his chest. He kissed him on the forehead and Spencer relaxed, returning the embrace and burying his face in the crook of Hannibal's throat.

Hannibal smirked in the darkness and ran a hand through his hair.

"Hannibal…?"

"Shh," he said gently, "it's late. Go back to sleep, Spencer…"

Spencer sighed and scooted close, the warmth radiating from Hannibal's body soothing. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep again in his arms, ignoring the small part of his mind that told him he should not feel safe sleeping with a monster.

* * *

"We got a hit on a body two days ago," Jack said, flashing the pictures around to Katz, Zeller and Price, "Outside of Florence, Italy. Organs missing… This could be Lecter."

Beverly studied the body with a frown, "Kind of… decomposed, isn't he?"

"He was buried," Jack said, "Some kids with a dog stumbled onto the grave by accident. His name is Salvatore Mancini. Stayed late at his office one night and vanished without a trace."

"Without a trace?" Zeller frowned, looking up at him skeptically.

"Car was still in the lot," Jack said, "Clean job of it. Cameras didn't catch anything."

"I don't know…" Bev tilted her head, "Even with the state of decomp… the body looks pretty messy. The Ripper never killed like that I mean… look at his chest. The lungs and heart were destroyed. He never did that."

"The stomach, kidneys and liver were missing," Jack said, "Lecter took organs."

"He's not the only killer to take organs…"

"It's something," Jack said, "They're going to send us the full autopsy report sometime tomorrow. Interpol is standing by on this."

Bev bit her lip, "This isn't the first false lead we've had," she said, "Even if this was Lecter, it's been months. He could be long gone."

"And he could still be there," Jack said, staring her down, "We chase this lead until it runs out. That's the end of it."

* * *

"They might have a lead," Prentiss' voice cackled over the speaker, but they didn't care. "A body was discovered outside of Florence with organs removed. It might've been Lecter."

"Might have been?" Hotch asked.

"It's been buried for months," Prentiss said, "and the kill looks messy. I haven't read the report yet, but they're ready to hand it over to Interpol if anything turns up. I spoke with Jack last night."

"I bet he's ready to move in," Blake said, "Have the police in Florence been digging to find any leads outside of Lecter?"

"They're asking around about the guy's personal life, apparently it wasn't as bright as it appeared. Their biggest suspect is the wife right now."

"Why?"

Prentiss hesitated, "When Mancini went missing a few months ago the family gave permission to question the daughter and search the house for anything. They turned up evidence of sexual abuse."

"God," JJ closed her eyes, looking sick.

"Wouldn't be the first child molester Lecter attacked," Morgan pointed out.

"The attack on Verger was pretty brutal," Rossi said, "It could explain why this guy is in such bad shape. Lecter found out about the abuse and made him pay for it."

"Could…" Prentiss mused, "I'll keep you guys in the loop, alright? If we learn anything, you'll be the first to know."

"Thanks, Emily,"

Garcia looked around at the others with wide eyes, "Do you think this is it? Are we close?"

"I hope so, Baby Girl," Morgan said, "I hope so."

* * *

"I'm concerned about the attention Mancini's murder is garnering," Hannibal said over breakfast a few days later.

Will looked at him with a frown, "Are they asking about you yet?"

"Not that I am aware," Hannibal inclined his head, "but if the FBI and Interpol become involved they will very likely show the family my photo along with Spencer's…"

Reid stiffened, "Do you think that could happen?" He tried not to sound hopeful, but his chest was fluttering and he could almost see freedom in his mind. He bit his lip when Hannibal turned to stare at him.

"If it does I have contingency plans," Hannibal said simply, "There is nothing to worry about.'

"Contingency plans don't always work, Hannibal,"

"I am aware," Hannibal said, "however, it would be no use for us to panic just yet. I know how to avoid the police."

Will frowned, but didn't argue any further, returning to his breakfast.

"I would like you to run a few errands for me today, Will," Hannibal said suddenly, looking up and staring at Will intently.

"Errands?"

"You can't imagine contingency plans simply fall into place on their own?"

Will sighed, "Right, of course…" he looked over Reid, "What about Spencer?"

"Spencer will be alright by himself for a day, don't you think?"

"I could take him with me," Will said, "He deserves to get out of the house for a little while, don't you think?"

"No, I do not," Hannibal said, "He will remain here and watch over the dog."

Spencer frowned, eyes darting between the two of them for a minute, "Did something happen I don't know about?" he asked.

"No," Hannibal stood, "Nothing. Will, get dressed. Spencer, you'll help me with the dishes."

Will scowled and shoved his chair back a bit harder than was strictly necessary, slamming the bedroom door behind him when he got there. Spencer stared at Hannibal anxiously, helping him gather the dishes and carry them to the sink.

"I'm not blind, you know," he said, watching Hannibal from the corner of his eye. "Something's wrong."

"Will is overstepping his bounds," Hannibal said simply, "That is not something I am going to tolerate."

"Overstepping his bounds…" Spencer echoed, frowning. "You mean with me."

"Spencer," Hannibal warned.

"…You're never going to let me go, are you?"

"No,"

He took a shuddering breath and nodded. There was silence for a long moment and he spoke again, his throat tight.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked.

"You may ask me anything, Spencer," he said lightly.

"…What do I mean to you?" he asked, "Do you actually care or am I just some toy?"

Hannibal froze and turned to face Spencer, his hands still dripping with dishwater. He pulled the young man toward him, taking his jaw and holding it. He kissed him lightly, and smoothed his wild curls with his free hand.

"You are not a toy, Spencer,"

"What am I then?"

"You are mine,"

"So I'm just a possession for you?"

His fingers caressed his jaw and he shook his head, "You are beautiful, Spencer. You are one of the most beautiful people I have ever met. How could I not want to own you."

He shivered under his touch and frowned, "What about Will then? What is he?"

Hannibal's lips twitched but it wasn't quite a smile, "He is me," he said, "He is the other half of me."

"Then you do care about us?" he met his eyes, his words warbling, his eyes glistening a bit.

"I care very much," Hannibal assured him, kissing him again, "I will always care."

* * *

Will got home an hour before Hannibal, shutting the door before Jackie could rush outside into the street. He knelt with a grin and scratched her ears, "Hey, Girl," he said, laughing when he licked at his fingers and tried to jump up on him.

"You're back early," Spencer said, standing in the door with his arms crossed over his chest. "I thought you weren't supposed to be back until late tonight."

"I wasn't," Will said, "but I got done early. I wanted to get back before Hannibal did."

He followed him into the living room and spotted another letter Spencer had written to his mother. He picked it up gently and read the first couple of lines before putting it down. He didn't need to read the entire thing to know what it said.

"There was another story on the news about Mancini," Will said, "I went by the house. It looks like the investigation is getting serious."

"Do you think Interpol is really going to get involved?"

"If they do, Hannibal is going to have a difficult time slipping out unnoticed. I'm surprised he hasn't tried to bail out yet. He's usually more carefully…" he frowned.

"He's got something else planned?"

"Going back to the states," Will said, "He wanted me to get new passports for us today."

Spencer frowned, "Why would he want to go back to the US?" he asked, "The risks will be even higher there."

"I don't know," Will frowned, "All I know is he isn't tell us something." His eyes darkened and Jackie leapt up onto the couch. He didn't tell her to get down, instead scooting over to give the little dog more room.

"I'll find out tonight though," he said, "That's for sure."

* * *

**A/N: **Mason's getting close and so is Jack... I wonder who will find them first? Or does Hannibal already know? *dun dun duuuuun*

*cough* Anyway. I'm starting to feel a bit guilty about what I'm doing to poor Spencer...

Don't forget to review!


	30. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Seventeen

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews! Hope you guys continue to enjoy the story!

Warnings for this chapter include: sexual situations, non-consensual sex, rape, rough sex, violence. This chapter is fairly bad and there is one specific scene that is very trigger-y. Please proceed with caution.

Please don't forget to review!

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Seventeen**

* * *

Hannibal returned home later than usual that night. Will was in the kitchen cleaning the mess from dinner when Hannibal entered. He glanced over his shoulder and frowned,

"You're late," he said.

"I was kept later than I expected after work," Hannibal explained, "I would have called if I were able to."

"We ate without you," Will said, "I hope that's alright."

"You would accomplish more if you didn't decide to have banal conversation before saying what it is that's on your mind, William," Hannibal said, smirking a bit when Will's hands tightened around the cloth he was using to wipe down the counter.

He turned to face him, "Alright," he said, "Fine. Why did you want me to get new passports today? What's going on?"

"Contingency plans of this sort usually entail leaving the country, Will," Hannibal said, "You did not assume that I would not think to have everything ready."

"You're planning to go back to the States, Hannibal," Will said, "That doesn't make any sense."

Hannibal sighed, "It would perhaps make more sense when you realized that we are in more imminent danger than I may have led you to believe,"

Will frowned, "Imminent danger from what?" he demanded.

"I will explain in a moment," he said, "First, where is Spencer?"

Will looked like he wanted to argue, but wisely chose not to, motioning toward the hall with a jerk of his head, "He's sleeping," he said, "He was tired and decided to turn in early."

Hannibal nodded and disappeared down the hall, his feet padding silently down the carpet. He paused at the door, tapping gently before stepping inside. Spencer was curled on his side beneath the blankets, his hair slightly damp from his shower and matted against his head. He smiled faintly and turned on the lamp, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed.

He didn't wake him, leaning down to press a faint kiss to his forehead and smooth his hair out. His face scrunched up and he turned a bit, murmuring in his sleep.

"Hannibal…"

His smile broadened and he kissed him again, on the cheek, before turning the light out and leaving, shutting the door behind him with a faint click.

* * *

Spencer woke to the sound of shattering glass and raised voices – or, more precisely, _a_ raised voice. Still slightly drunk from sleep, he stumbled from the bed and flipped on the lamp for light. The sounds were coming from the kitchen and he followed them out into the hall, Will's voice growing clearer as he went.

"– were just biding your time then? What if he'd decided to call the FBI or Interpol!? What would you have done then?" Will's voice was half-frantic and half incredibly pissed off. Spencer edged his way toward the entrance and saw a pile of shattered glass – it looked like a plate – glistening under the light near the doorway.

"Relax, Will," Hannibal's voice was as calm as ever, completely unbothered. It was strange, Spencer thought, how the man never seemed to yell, not even when he was really angry. The only time he raised his voice was if he couldn't be heard over someone else talking and that was rare in itself.

"He will not go to the police," he said, "He is going to come here to speak to me tomorrow evening and I will sort everything out."

Will's eyes bugged a bit and he threw his hands up, "How can you possibly know he won't call anyone?"

"Because he is a greedy, petty man who wants more than simple recognition," Hannibal said, "I have no doubt if circumstances were different he would gladly take the chance to be the man who brought me in, but there are better offers on the table at present."

Will froze and stared at him. Spencer was still standing in the entrance and he didn't think either of them had noticed him. He didn't move and didn't realize he was holding his breath until Will spoke again, brow furrowed as he watched Hannibal.

"Better offers? What does that mean?"

"Surely you remember Mason Verger,"

Will twitched and looked away, "I remember what you did to him,"

"Then you will also remember that he was a tenacious man. He has apparently put a bounty on my head, independent of the FBI. I can only imagine how Uncle Jack feels about that."

His lips curled into a feral smile and Will cocked his head to the side, eyes squinting at him, "You're saying that Pazzi is going to turn you over to Verger to get the reward money?"

"Exactly,"

"But Verger wants you dead," Will said, "He'll kill you. How is that any better than being turned in to the FBI?"

Hannibal reached out and took Will's head in his hands, tilting his face up to look at him, "Because he will not kill me and I will take care of it, Will. That is why we are returning to the United States. Do not worry. You have to trust me,"

Will's breath was shaking and he hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly, "Alright then," he said, "I trust you. As long as Spencer doesn't get hurt, I'll trust you."

Hannibal smiled and pulled him closer, kissing him roughly. Will didn't seem to mind, leaning into him for a moment and grabbing Hannibal's shoulders, digging his fingers into the fabric there and wrinkling it.

Spencer held his breath again, not wanting to interrupt the moment, and quietly went back to the guest bedroom, his mind spinning. They were going back to the US. His chest ached as he thought about his team, about Maeve, about his mother… It had been so long since he'd seen any of them and he was going to be closer to them than he'd been in months.

A small flicker of hope began burning inside of him and he smiled as he lay back down on the bed.

A few minutes later, Spencer was still awake when the bedroom door opened and the light was turned on. He grimaced at the sudden change in lighting and sat up, blinking his eyes to adjust to the brightness.

Hannibal was standing there, watching him carefully as he undressed. He removed his suit jacket and tie slowly.

"We will likely be leaving within the week" he said, "if you were curious. We will be heading to the United States to take care of some old business of mine." He raised a brow when Spencer spluttered and folded his legs beneath himself.

"You knew I was there…"

"Of course I did," Hannibal smiled faintly, "I smelled your shampoo when you left the bedroom."

He didn't comment on how unsettling that statement was. "That old business is one of your victims," it wasn't a question.

Hannibal nodded mutely as he slid his trousers off and Spencer frowned, "Are you going to kill him?"

He paused, smiling faintly, "I'd rather not," he said, "I enjoy knowing that what I did to him has destroyed his life so completely. However, if I must I will not hesitate to do so."

Spencer snorted, "How can there be an alternative to you killing him? You aren't going to be able to talk him out of wanting to kill you. You're good, but not that good, Dr. Lecter. He hates you."

"I suppose he does," he said, "but I am not overly concerned about Mason or his messy revenge schemes. Once I have dealt with Inspector Pazzi we will return to the United States and I will take care of Mason as well."

"You make it sound like it's going to be easy," Spencer said, "But you're talking about murder and international travel when you're a wanted man."

Hannibal climbed onto the bed, sliding his arms around Spencer's shoulders to pull him to his chest, "Entertaining thoughts of escape?" he asked gently, in the same soft, even voice that he asked everything.

Spencer tensed and Hannibal's fingers slid beneath his shirt to touch scar on his abdomen where he'd cut his kidney out. The young man flinched and pressed himself further into Hannibal.

"Not… not escape," he said lightly, "just… freedom."

"Freedom from me?" Hannibal asked.

"Maybe…" Spencer said, turning his head slightly to look at Hannibal. He didn't seem angry, his face impassive as ever, but his hands tightened their grip and he pressed a kiss to his hair. His lips trailed down to his ear, teeth scraping along the sensitive skin.

"You promised that you would not run away again, Spencer," Hannibal said.

"I made that promise when I was drugged and strapped to a table," Spencer said, "I don't think it counts."

Hannibal smirked, "Perhaps," he said, "but I am not going to let you run away from me. You cannot tell me that there isn't a part of you that doesn't want to escape."

He shivered and closed his eyes, "There's also another part of me that is screaming at me to run before it's too late."

"Too late for what?" Hannibal had pulled Spencer into his lap now, the fingers that had been pressing against his scar sliding lower, toying with the band on his pants.

He pressed his lips tight and squirmed under the attention, "Too late for me to remember why I'm supposed to hate you…"

Hannibal's teeth pressed against his throat, his lips feeling the pulse of blood rushing through the artery there. He smiled and bit down gently, licking at the soft skin. Spencer shivered and pushed back against him again.

"You do not hate me, Spencer," Hannibal told him, his hand slipping into his pants entirely, fingers lightly trailing over him. Spencer was trembling now, sucking in hard breaths as Hannibal toyed with him.

"You hate that you love me…"

"I… I don't love you," Spencer protested, gasping when Hannibal wrapped his fingers around him and squeezed roughly. He let out a small yelp and whimpered when he continued the rough treatment.

"You have said that you do,"

"I – you – You made me say it,"

"I made you admit it, Spencer," Hannibal's breath was hot against his skin, his lips pressed down against his collarbone. "I didn't make you mean it."

"No, I didn't… You… I never -"

"Spencer," Hannibal's voice was a rough growl and he bit down at bit harder than before – still not hard enough to break the skin. "You did mean it, Spencer. It terrifies you that you meant it…"

He closed his eyes, biting down hard on his lower lip and Hannibal grinned.

"I don't want it to be true…" his words were mangled sounding and rough, but Hannibal didn't mind that. He easily maneuvered them, lifting Spencer off his lap and pushing him down beneath him. His lips found Spencer's and his kissed him, smiling against his mouth when Spencer's fumbling hands reached up to wrap around his neck, holding on for dear life as whined into the kiss.

Hannibal pulled back, "It is true, Spencer," he told him, "You love me…"

Spencer's lips trembled and he stared up at Hannibal with uncertain eyes. He looked like he was about to say something, about to cave, but he met Hannibal's gaze and his body went still, his fingers tightening around the back of his neck.

He shook his head and slowly his hands fell away, "It's not true," he said, his jaw set firmly. "I know it's not. I can't… You're a monster."

Hannibal touched his face gently, "Am I?"

Spencer jerked away, frowning at him, "Yes," he whispered, "You are."

Hannibal smiled at him and leaned down to kiss him again and for the first time in a long time Spencer fought him. He pushed against Hannibal's chest and sent him falling back. He wasn't as strong as Hannibal was, but the older man hadn't been expecting that and nearly fell off the bed.

His eyes darkened as he straightened up, "Spencer,"

"Don't," Spencer sat up and curled his arms around him, his eyes half terrified, half angry. "Don't touch me."

He ignored him and reached out, gripping Spencer's wrists tightly when he tried to hit him. He pressed a rough kiss to his lips and shoved him back down onto the bed.

"I will do as I please with you, Spencer," he told him, "You are mine."

Spencer shook his head, struggling in the hold and trying desperately to free himself. "No," he said, "I'm not. I'm not. I don't belong to anyone…"

Hannibal didn't listen, his lips making a rough trail down Spencer's jaw and neck and chest, "And if you are so convinced that I am a monster, perhaps I should show you what a monster truly is…"

Spencer went entirely still again, eyes flying wide at those words. Hannibal smirked against his chest, his lips and tongue toying with the skin for a moment. He listened to Spencer's heart flutter in his chest and then pressed his teeth against the skin, biting down with a sudden ferocity, ripping and tearing at the flesh.

Spencer screamed and started to struggle again as Hannibal licked at the bloody wound, savoring the metallic tang of his blood in his mouth. He looked up at Spencer, met his horrified eyes and smiled, flashing his blood coated teeth in a grin that was more animal than human.

* * *

"You're quiet this morning," Will watched Spencer as he frowned down at his empty breakfast plate.

"Sorry," Spencer blinked and looked up, "I'm just thinking."

"Going back to the States," Spencer said, "Being home."

"Oh," Will nodded slowly, "Maybe… maybe if we get close enough to Quantico you could see them. Maybe even your girlfriend."

Spencer smiled a bit, "I miss them…" he whispered, then frowned again, "If… I mean, if I actually do manage to get away… It doesn't seem likely, but if I were…" he fumbled and chewed on his lower lip, "You would stay with him, wouldn't you?"

There was a strange undercurrent in Spencer's voice that Will had heard a couple of times before. He glanced up at him and shrugged.

"I don't know," he said honestly, "I might."

"He isn't good for you," Spencer said, "He's twisted you around until you hardly know who you are anymore and you rely on him and only him."

Will's lips twisted a bit, "You didn't know me before I met Hannibal," he said, "how would you know that he's twisted me?"

"Because I know him and I know that when we first met you hated him. Or you were at least trying to hate him… Right now you're just trying to latch onto the way things were before you knew he was the Ripper and it's not going to last. He's going to kill you or you're going to kill him."

"We already tried going that route, Spencer," Will said, "He almost eviscerated me."

"Right," Spencer nodded, "Because you turned him in to Jack after he killed Abigail Hobbs. Because he was trying to frame you for her murder. You can coexist, Will. It's an impossibility. He's going to get bored or you're going to get angry and it's going to completely fall apart."

"And you would know,"

"Just because I haven't actually been working as a profiler lately doesn't mean I don't have the training. I've seen this sort of relationship before in cases."

Will nodded slowly, "Got it boiled down to a science then,"

"Will, I didn't mean -"

"No, no, you're probably right," Will said, "I can't see any bright, happy ending for Hannibal and me… Can't change how I feel about him though."

Spencer eyed him carefully, "So… you're going to stay with him." He looked down quickly, pressing his lips together and staring down at his hands. There was a thick sort of sadness rolling off of him, his shoulders hunched and his posture stiff.

"That doesn't mean I won't try to help get you back to your friends," Will said quickly. It was a huge risk – there was no telling how Hannibal would react to Will helping Spencer – but he was willing to take it if it would make Spencer happy.

"If there's anything I can do… I'll help you, Spencer. I know you want to get out of here."

He smiled, "What if I… I mean… what if I asked you to come with me instead?"

"I'm not exactly the best company," Will pointed out, trying not to smile. He felt something tugging in his chest when he thought over what Spencer had just said and he didn't want to look too hard at it, lest it fall apart in his hands.

"Neither am I," Spencer said quietly, "It's just… I don't want to leave and think about you being stuck with Hannibal alone…"

"You're serious?" Will asked.

He nodded stiffly, avoiding actually looking at Will as he did. Will thought about that, his lips twitching in his efforts to keep himself from smiling. He stood up from his seat after a second and walked around to where Spencer was seated, putting a hand over his fists cautiously.

Spencer stared at Will's hand for a long moment. He knew it wasn't a confirmation that Will would go with him if he managed to run away, but it was something. He twisted his hands beneath Will's and suddenly their fingers were laced together and Spencer was holding onto him for dear life.

He moved fast, as if moving too slow would cause him to lose his nerve. He stood jerkily to his feet and grabbed Will before he could stop himself, kissing him with a desperate sort of need. Will let him, dragging their hands apart to grip Spencer's waist and pull his body against his.

Spencer was soft and warm and his body was pliable and needy under his hands. So different from Hannibal that it felt almost alien and Will liked it. He kissed harder, matching Spencer's desperation with his own and when Spencer broke away he looked into his wide hazel eyes, taking in his redden lips and his flushed skin.

"Will you… I…" Spencer fumbled and kissed him again, closing his eyes tightly, latching his hands to Will's shoulders.

"Touch me…" Spencer's voice was a hoarse whisper against Will's lips, "Please… Please, Will, touch me…"

And Will complied, tugging Spencer toward the guest bedroom gently, undoing his shirt as Spencer undid his. They undressed each other and practically fell on the bed. Will straddled the younger man's hips and just watched him for a long moment. His chest expanded and contracted roughly and his pale skin was pink with blush.

He ran his hand down Spencer's chest, touching at a raw and still very fresh bite mark. He frowned and bent down, kissing it softly and Spencer closed his eyes. He didn't move and let Will's hands roam over his body.

Will didn't touch him like Hannibal touched him. With Hannibal, it was all raw animal feeling and power. It made Spencer feel undone, like he was being consumed and reduced to a quiver mass of nerve endings.

Will's touch was slower, gentler. Like he was worshiping him. He didn't feel like he was being broken down and pulled apart, he felt like he was being put back together. He touched him and Spencer felt like he was being loved rather than possessed.

He trailed his mouth down Spencer's chest, kissing lightly along the scar at his side and holding his hips down in a firm grasp, avoiding the bruises there from Hannibal's fingers. He pressed his lips against Spencer's member and Spencer twitched, gasping when he slowly took him into his mouth.

It was slow and gentle and torturously wonderful. Spencer barely registered the first finger entering him until Will started moving it in time with his tongue and he gripped the sheets as the second finger joined it. Will smiled around Spencer's erection, keeping one hand pressing down on his hips to keep him from bucking into his mouth.

"Oh… I… Will…" Spencer's chest was heaving rapidly and his head was pressing back against the pillows, his hips straining against Will's hands. Slowly, Will sat up, letting him slide from his lips with a wet sound.

He continued working his fingers in him for several more minutes, his lips finding new places to touch on his body, kissing and licking at his inner thighs and the soft skin of his stomach until Spencer spread his legs wider and pushed his lips up, thrusting into his fingers.

"Nngh… Will… Please… Now…" Spencer was gasping, his body covered finely in a sheen of sweat and Will smiled, licking along his thigh before sliding his fingers out. He picked up the lube where he'd left it earlier and tried not to make too much noise as his fingers slid over his own erection.

Kneeling between Spencer's spread thighs he pressed against him and met his gaze, kissing his face softly.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice cracked a bit as he spoke.

Spencer didn't speak, just nodded in a quick, twitching motion and Will slowly, agonizingly, pushed inside of him, smiling at the breathy little moans that escaped Spencer's lips at every move.

He sat there for almost a full minute once he was fully inside of him and waited until Spencer's gasps returned to normal breathing. Then, bending down to press another kiss to his swollen lips, he pulled out and began thrusting back in with the same slow, deliciously torturous pace as before.

* * *

They had changed the sheets and showered by the time Hannibal returned home. Spencer was terrified that he would know what had happened, but Will assured him that if he did get angry he would take the blame for it.

When they heard his key in the lock they separated from where they had been sitting together on the couch and Will called Jackie to take her on her nightly walk. He passed Hannibal with the leash and Hannibal grabbed him by the wrist.

For one second, Will thought Hannibal was going to tell him that he knew what had happened while he was gone, but instead he dropped his hand and shook his head.

"I'm afraid you don't have time for that, William," he said, "Inspector Pazzi is on his way here to speak with me and I need your assistance."

"Assistance?"

"It appears that Mason is moving faster than I anticipated," Hannibal said calmly, "I spotted one of his men in town today as I was leaving work. We must move quickly."

"Quickly? But –"

"Spencer!" Hannibal turned his back on Will, heading toward the living room, "I want you to go to the bedrooms and get everything essential packed. I will get my tablet and cell phone from my office when we leave."

"Packed?" Spencer frowned, "Packed for what?"

"We are going to be leaving sooner than I expected," Hannibal said, "Please, do as I asked."

Wide eyed, Spencer nodded and headed upstairs.

"Now, Will, if you would…" he gestured toward the kitchen, "We must be quick. I have no doubt the men Mason has sent will be here shortly after Pazzi arrives. Come."

* * *

Clarice's eyes were burning from staring at her computer for too long when her phone rang. She snatched it up, eager for anything that might take her away from her desk, even for just a short while.

It was Penelope.

"Agent Starling! Good, you're still here. Listen, I'm still monitoring Mason Verger's incoming and outgoing calls. I mean, well, not monitoring them, but I can see the numbers if they aren't blocked. We can't hear the conversations or anything, that would be _really_ illegal, but I think that I might have something interesting…"

"What? What is it?"

"Verger received a phone call a couple of hours ago that originated in Italy," Garcia said, "From Florence, specifically. It looks like it came from an Inspector Pazzi with the Italian police. I did some digging and he's heading the investigation into the Mancini murder. It could be nothing, but I thought -"

"I need that number," Clarice's knuckles were white against the phone, "Now."

* * *

**A/N: **So... yeah. *clears throat* I'm just gonna... be over here.

Don't forget to review!


	31. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Eighteen

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **I am so sorry for the long absence guys. These last couple of weeks have been... well, hell, really. I'm so exhausted and every time I think things can't get worse they do so... yeah. Real life strikes again. Sorry.

But I'm back and hopefully I'll be able to continue on my former twice-weekly schedule. We'll see.

Warnings for this chapter include: murder, gore

Please don't forget to review!

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Eighteen**

* * *

Spencer pressed his ear against the door of the bedroom. The suitcases had been packed and the passports were ready and waiting on the bed. He could hear the door being opened downstairs and if he listened hard enough he could hear Hannibal and the Inspector talking.

"Good evening, Inspector," Hannibal was cordial as always, "I apologize for asking you to come here at such a late hour. I would have gladly gone to your office in the morning." Spencer could imagine the small almost-smile on Hannibal lips and the way the light caught his eyes, making them shine like dirty rubies, the traces of red gleaming beneath the brown.

Pazzi brushed his words off and said he would rather get the interview done as quickly as possible, making some excuse about the office being crowded and wanting him to be comfortable.

"If you do not mind, Dr. Fell, is your Italian good?" Pazzi's English seemed good enough, but Spencer guessed he probably would rather have spoken in his own language.

Hannibal replied in Italian, his accent still sounding wrong with the language, the words rolling off his tongue roughly, but clearly enough. Spencer sighed and moved away from the door, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

He thought about calling out, warning Pazzi about the danger, but he knew that wouldn't save him. If he tried to warn him, Hannibal would just kill Pazzi where he stood and then Spencer would be punished.

He felt like a coward.

* * *

Hannibal watched Pazzi as he led him past the kitchen and offered him a glass of wine, which the Inspector politely, if a bit nervously, refused. He showed him to the den and motioned for him to sit, studying him.

Pazzi was a large man, built strong, but going softer in his age. He had probably been a man on the streets in his youth, capable of defending himself in a fight and staring down a target unflinchingly. The years had not been kind, unfortunately. He was tired, his hair was greying and his body was deteriorating.

He wanted an out and Verger's five million would certainly do that for him.

Hannibal smiled, the barest twist of his lips, and sat down across from the man, catching his shifting eyes as they moved around the room. Even for a seasoned investigator, Pazzi seemed nervous. He knew who he was sitting across from. Really, Hannibal reasoned, it was almost too easy. Not nearly as entertaining as he would have liked.

"You wanted to speak with me about a murder, Inspector?" Hannibal asked in Italian, keeping his tone cordial and light.

Pazzi turned his attention back to him, glancing down at his watch, "Yes, about Salvatore Mancini. He was an art dealer, murdered nearly five months ago."

Hannibal pretended to search his memory, brow furrowing as he studied Pazzi, "I am afraid I only know of him from the tragic news of his death,"he said, "I did attend a gallery several months ago which I believe he may have also attended, but I don't believe I met him."

Pazzi showed him a photograph of the man. It was a family photo, professionally done. They were all smiling brightly in it, Mancini's hands resting heavily on his daughter's shoulders. Hannibal stared at the photograph, a somewhat perplexed, frustrated look crossing his face as he looked up and shook his head regretfully.

"I am sorry, Inspector; I do not recognize this man. If we met it was only in passing."

"Ah," Pazzi nodded, shifting a bit and looking around, he stood and seemed a bit troubled, "His wife tells us that you and a young man stopped to speak to him. She recognized you from a photograph I showed her."

Hannibal blinked, eyes widening fractionally as he once more pretended to search his memory, his lips turning down just faintly.

"It is possible," he admitted, "The gallery was quite some time ago and I spoke to a great deal of people that night. I'm sorry to say I do not recall what we spoke about."

Pazzi seemed restless, looking cagy and ready to start pacing. He shifted on his feet, eyes moving around the room with an anxious sort of energy.

"Are you alright, Inspector?" Hannibal asked, concern in his tone as he too stood, "Would you like that glass of wine now?"

Pazzi blinked and froze, "No, no, that's alright," he said, "I am just a little restless. I've been working too hard lately, I think."

He wiped the back of his hand against his forehead and frowned visibly, "I was under the impression that you lived with someone, Dr. Fell,"

There was a faint creak that Pazzi didn't seem to catch behind him and Hannibal smiled, inclining his head toward the man. The smile wasn't quite right and seemed to make Pazzi even more nervous, eyes darting around Hannibal as the man stared at him.

"I do, Inspector," he said softly, "It would perhaps have been better for you to make certain we were alone before coming here."

Pazzi blinked and it took him a second too long to comprehend. As he started to turn, Will's arm came around his throat and a cloth was pressed tightly against his mouth and nose. Hannibal watched Will's face rather than Pazzi's, grinning outright at the shadows that fell across his eyes and the hard, angular set of his jaw.

Will's fingers flexed and pressed the cloth harder, holding the squirming man still until he went entirely limp. He let him go, watching Pazzi tumble to the floor. Taking several shaking breaths, Will looked up at Hannibal and noticed the man's rapt attention for the first time.

He shivered and looked away, "You said we didn't have much time," he reminded him, his voice hoarse.

Forced out of his thoughts, Hannibal nodded and motioned for Will to help him lift the man.

* * *

Pazzi woke with a burning sensation on his face and a queasy churning in his stomach. He opened his eyes cautiously, his head aching. He sucked in a hard breath through his nose when he realized that he was gagged. He tried to call out, his muffled cries swallowed by the thick layer of tape around his mouth.

A hand came down on his shoulder. Looking down his started trembling when he saw long, elegant fingers that pressed harshly into his muscle.

"You're awake," Lecter's voice came from somewhere above him and he shivered. "Good. I was worried that perhaps you would be unconscious for this and that would be such a shame."

He heard footsteps and the hand fell away. He blinked several times, his eyes burning, and looked up at Lecter, standing in front of him now. His heart was thundering in his ears and he could only barely focus on the words the other man was saying. Asking him about Mason Verger and his men. Asking if they were nearby.

He winced and tried to protest, but then Lecter leaned down, meeting his eyes and smiling at him.

"I would answer honestly if I were, Inspector," he said softly, "You have a very beautiful wife and it would be a shame for her to be eaten, don't you agree?"

His heart skipped and he suddenly became incredibly cooperative. He blinked for yes or no whenever Lecter asked him a question, nodding and trying not to sob as the man demanded to know if Verger's men were already outside and waiting.

He wasn't sure why he had the vague, tenuous hope that maybe he wouldn't die, but it shattered whenever his cell phone began ringing in his pocket. He paled and his eyes darted toward the phone. He was a dead man now, he was certain of it.

A hand came out of nowhere and began digging through his jacket to get the phone. He suddenly realized that he and Lecter were not alone in the room and craned his head to see the stranger.

"Do you recognize the number, William?"

"It's an FBI number," Will said, frowning. Pazzi never saw Will's face, but he saw the hand that extended toward Lecter.

Lecter glanced down at the phone and raised a brow, his lips twisting a bit. He seemed to debate for a moment about answering before smiling and holding the phone to his ear.

The female voice on the other end of the line began babbling without allowing him to say hello, which he would have found extremely rude until he recognized the voice that was demanding to know what Pazzi had been doing contacting Mason Verger.

His lips pulled into a genuine smile and Will frowned behind Pazzi, raising a brow. It was rare for Hannibal to look so happy.

"Why Agent Starling, is that you?"

* * *

"Why Agent Starling, is that you?"

Clarice's words came to a screeching halt as she heard that voice. It was distorted over the phone, but she would recognize those smooth, even tones anywhere. Her heart jerked in her chest and before she had realized what she was doing, she had jumped to her feet, eyes wide as she looked around the office.

"Doctor Lecter?" the words came out to fast and she gripped the phone tighter. She forced herself to take a deep breath. Her first instinct was to have them trace the call, but she already knew that Pazzi was in Florence and this was his phone.

"It's been quite a while, Clarice," Hannibal sounded happy. Her gut churned at the things that would have made him so joyous. "I hear that you were taken off my case. That must've upset you. You know, I missed our conversations…"

Keep him on the line, Clarice thought, eyes rapidly searching for something on her desk to write with. She snatched a pen and tore a scrap of paper roughly from a pad.

"I missed them too," Clarice said, scribbling a message on the paper and wishing she hadn't used the landline at her desk to call Pazzi. She leaned over the desk in front of her and waved the paper in the agent's face. She wasn't even sure what the young man's name was, but he glanced up from his paperwork and blinked.

His eyes locked on the note: GET JACK CRAWFORD. TELL HIM IT'S IMPORTANT. ABOUT LECTER.

The man nodded briskly and was up and out of his seat, sensing Clarice's urgency as she turned her full attention back to the phone.

"But right now I don't really have time to chat, I'm afraid,"

"Wait, Dr. Lecter -"

"Perhaps we will see each other soon, Agent Starling," Hannibal said, "I look forward to it."

"Dr. Lecter, please don't hang up," Clarice said, her voice tight and frantic, "I have to -"

The line went dead. Her shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes, swearing under her breath as she slammed the phone down into the cradle. Several people looked up at the sound, but returned to their work seconds later. She took a deep, steady breath and snatched her cell phone from the desk, dialing Pazzi's number again.

It rang. And rang. And rang. And then it stopped ringing. A mechanical voice notified her that the number she was dialing was out of service. Damn it. She hit the end button and moved away from her desk, half jogging toward the hall. By the time she got there Jack was stepping out of one of the elevators, his face tight and his eyes wide.

He spotted her almost immediately, holding up the note that she had shoved into the other agent's hands.

"What's this about, Starling?"

"Lecter's in Florence," she said, sounding breathless.

"We already suspected -"

"No, he is in Florence," she shook her head, "I just got off the phone with him." She sucked in a deep breath and met his steady gaze, "It's a long story. Let me explain…"

* * *

Hannibal smashed the cell phone beneath his shoe when it began ringing again. Clarice's voice was floating through his mind and he felt his lips tug into a smile. It had been quite a while since he'd spoke to her and he found that he had truly missed her. She was smart and tenacious and bold – different from Will and Spencer. She never wanted to be accepted as normal, she wanted to stand out, to prove herself worthy of admiration. She strove for attention.

His eyes turned back to Pazzi and then to Will, standing just behind the man.

"I'm afraid we will have to cut this short," he said, "I don't have as much time as I had thought. William?"

When Will hesitated and then came around to give Hannibal the knife, Pazzi sucked in another sharp breath through his nose. His small eyes were stuck on Will's face, tracing the lines of the gnarled scars that marred the surface.

Hannibal's lips twitched as he turned the knife over in his hand and watched Pazzi's face. He breathed in the smell of his fear, clouding the room and almost overpowering every other smell – even the smell of dog lingering on William.

"Okie dokie, let's begin…"

Pazzi didn't see the knife coming until it was buried halfway into his stomach. He let out a lurching, gagging sound and his eyes flew wide. Hannibal grinned and rested a hand against his shoulder for leverage, pressing his fingers roughly into the soft flesh.

Will watched with wide eyes, his pupils dilated until they were almost black. His hands were shaking and his breath was unsteady and Hannibal's smile widened to flash his teeth as he pushed the blade in further, feeling it slice through skin and watching the waterfall of near black blood that began pulsing out around the gash.

He jerked the knife, ripping through fabric and flesh at the same time, marveling at the blood that continued to gush, dripping down around the chair and seeping into the carpet. It made soft pit pat noises against the soft surface, quickly forming a pool underneath Pazzi's feet.

Pazzi wheezed through his nose, making delightful, pained little grunts with each twist of the knife and Hannibal took it as slowly as he could. He could feel Will's eyes on him and it drove him to make this as much of a performance as he could given the short time frame.

The blade stopped when it reached his sternum and he held it there, digging it just a bit deeper, reveling in the half-scream that came out from behind the thick layer of tape. Pazzi's skin was damp with sweat, shining in the light. His breathing was heavy and ragged, his chest puffing out too quick.

The blood kept coming, running thick and red-black down his shirt and trousers, slipping off the sides of the chair. The puddle looked almost black now, so thick with the fluid that Hannibal was certain the stain would never fully come up.

He jerked Pazzi's chin and met his eyes, grinning at him fully, showing all of his teeth. He rarely smiled like that and felt a rush of pleasure at the shudder that managed to wrack its way through the Inspector's weakened body.

He straightened up and yanked the blade away, stepping carefully around the dying man. He wouldn't last long. He couldn't breathe properly and his intestines were partly tumbled from his abdomen. Hannibal's fingers itched to rip them out fully, but he had precious little time.

He dropped the knife where he stood and moved at a swift pace toward the stairs to get Spencer. Will hadn't moved and Hannibal touched him lightly in the small of his back, guiding him out of the room with a smooth, soft voice,

"We must hurry, William," he said, "I am certain that Mason's men were waiting for a signal from him. We do not have much time."

Will nodded numbly and finally moved, following Hannibal upstairs to the bedroom where Spencer was curled on the bed, head buried in his knees so that he didn't have to hear the sounds of the man being murdered in the living room.

* * *

**A/N: **I had Hannibal say "okie dokie" partly because I promised my friend Beronica I would include that and partly because every time I think of Hannibal Lecter saying "okie dokie" I burst into a fit on insane giggles.

Next up: TO AMERICA! Yay. Trust me, things are not going to go down smoothly for anyone.


	32. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Nineteen

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks as always for the reviews! Glad you're enjoying the story!

Warnings for this chapter include: cannibalism, general creepiness, sexual situations (of the consensual variety)

Please don't forget to review!

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Nineteen**

* * *

"You alright?" Will called as he knocked on the bathroom door. They were in a small motel room outside of Richmond, Virginia. They'd arrived the night before and Hannibal had been gone before the sun rose that morning, only pausing to say a quiet goodbye before parting.

Spencer was shaking on the bathroom floor. His face was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and his hair falling in damp curls around his eyes. He sucked in a harsh breath and gagged at the taste of vomit in his mouth.

"Spencer?"

He heaved again and clenched his eyes shut, resting his forehead against the toilet bowl, not caring about hygiene at the moment.

"I – I'm fine," his voice shook as he spoke, "I'm just a little sick. It's nothing."

Will frowned and stepped away from the door, thinking about going in anyway to see what was going on. Spencer had practically leapt out of the bed not long after Hannibal left and ran to the bathroom. He'd been in there for about twenty minutes.

He went back to the table beside the window and pulled out the cell phone Hannibal had given him. He typed out a message to Hannibal about Spencer, but didn't send it. He didn't want Hannibal to come running back there and he was pretty sure Spencer wouldn't appreciate it.

It was nearly ten more minutes before Spencer finally emerged from the bathroom, pale and shaken. His eyes were wide and his lips were nearly white. He looked more terrified than he did sick. Will got to his feet and cautiously approached him, pushing the sweat soaked curls from Spencer's face to get a better look at him.

"Nightmares?" he asked. He didn't really need to; he'd seen the dilated pupils and ashen colored skin enough times to know he'd had a nightmare without being able to pick up the fear rolling off the young man.

Spencer sat on the edge of the bed and nodded slowly, "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't what happened, I just…"

"It's alright," Will assured him, putting a hand on his back and smiling a bit. "I get it. Just, uh, maybe you should take a shower and get cleaned up. I'll warm up something to eat."

Spencer made a face, "I don't… I can't eat anything."

He glanced up at him, his eyes round and wide, and Will felt his stomach lurch.

"Spence –"

"I know," Spencer cut him off, "I know he'll be angry, but I really can't right now, Will. I've been able to compartmentalize. I've been able to pretend that it wasn't real or tell myself that it's just something I have to do, but I can't. Thinking about it…"

He trailed off, looking a little green.

Will eyed him sympathetically, "The nightmare?"

Spencer nodded, "Yeah," he said, swallowing roughly.

Biting his lip, Will stood abruptly, "Come on, get up and shower. I'll take you to get something to eat that isn't people."

Spencer stood slowly, eyeing Will with uncertainty, "But, Hannibal -"

"Doesn't have to know," Will said, "Just… just promise you won't try to run away right now and I'll take you. Once we get to Quantico I'll help you get back to your team."

Spencer pressed his lips together and nodded. He had expected that once they got Stateside he would feel _something._ He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but he felt nothing but anxiousness. The entire trip from Italy he had thought about ways to break free from Hannibal as soon as possible, but once they actually got to the States, he hardly paid attention to any opportunities that presented themselves.

He missed the team, his missed Maeve and he missed his mother, but when he considered leaving Will or Hannibal he felt a knot in his stomach that made him queasy. Some part of him told him that feeling so attached wasn't normal, but thinking of running away terrified him more than staying.

The only real question was why.

He didn't say anything to Will though, instead going to the bathroom to shower, smiling faintly at Will's light touch on his shoulder. Will at least made him feel normal and sane. He met his eyes for a second and thought Will was certainly able to feel the tangled emotions inside of him just as well as if they were his own.

That made him both relieved and sick at the same time. Will understood, but that didn't mean what he felt was actually _normal._

* * *

"He was right there!" Garcia protested, "You let him slip away again! We almost had him back and now -"

"Baby Girl, Baby Girl," Morgan held his hands up in an attempt to calm the technical analyst, "You're right, they were close. Next time they'll be even closer."

"What if there isn't a next time!?" she demanded, "What if this sicko kills him before the next time? Every time we get a lead on them, Lecter just leaves us another body to clean up and Reid gets farther and farther away!"

"We're doing our best to find him, Miss Garcia," Jack tried to sound soothing, to sound reasonable, but he came up short, his voice sounding a bit more detached than anyone on Dr. Reid's team.

"With Pazzi's murder and Mancini's we know more about what was going on, at least since they got to Florence. The Italians are processing the house and anything they find will be passed through Interpol and back to us."

Garcia glared up at him, "I don't care about what's been going on for the last few months," she said, her voice dangerously low, "I care about you doing your job and finding my Baby! Damn it, it's been far too long and I am tired of waiting for him to come back home to us! You said you were going to find him and it's been almost a year and he's still not here!"

Her eyes were glistening with tears and Jack couldn't look at her, turning his eyes toward the floor as he nodded.

"We're doing everything we can," he told her, "You know how these things work -"

"What I _know_ is that Reid is still in the hands of a psycho and you aren't doing anything to fix that and you won't let us help!"

"There are rules -"

"I don't care about the rules!"

"Garcia -"

"I want Reid back and -"

"Baby Girl, they'll find him," Morgan said, "I think we need to let Crawford get back to his job, alright? We've got our own cases to work."

Jack inclined his head in thanks and left, giving them a sympathetic look before the door shut behind him.

Garcia frowned, spinning in her chair to face Morgan, "You can't really expect us to just sit here and not do anything when Reid was _so close_ and they missed him?"

Morgan smiled and kissed the top of her head, "You know I don't, Garcia," he said, "but arguing with Jack Crawford isn't going to get us anywhere. We're just going to have to keep doing what we've been doing. Starling will keep us in the loop as much as she can and Katz said she'd call us when they get the report on the crime scene."

Garcia sighed, "And Verger?"

"Can't do anything without a warrant," Morgan sighed, falling into the chair next to her, "Starling's still monitoring his house. If anyone else suspicious turns up, she said she'd let us know."

"I hate this," Garcia said, frowning, "I hate this, Derek. I want my Baby back."

Morgan gave her a one-armed hug and nodded, "We all do, Mamma," he said, "We all do."

* * *

Will and Spencer ended up at a McDonald's. Over the course of their lives both of them had spent far more time in fast food restaurants than was probably healthy, but all the time spent with Hannibal had acclimated them to much finer tastes.

It felt wonderful to be able to eat a cheeseburger for once and Will couldn't stop the ridiculous grin on his face when he caught sight of Spencer's goofy smile. He laughed when Spencer jammed a handful of greasy fries into his mouth and Spencer raised a brow.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, his eyes bright, "Nothing, it's just… you look like I just gave you a million dollars when all I did was buy you a two dollar burger."

Spencer shrugged, "It's good," he said, "and it's not… Hannibal's."

Will's smile fell, "Yeah," he said, glancing back down at his own half-eaten meal, "That's always a plus, isn't it?"

Spencer's lips quirked a bit and he nodded, eating a couple more French fries. They finished their meal in silence. As they were leaving, Will got a text from Hannibal, his brows furrowing as he shoved the phone away.

"What was that about?"

"Hannibal wants to see Clarice,"

Spencer blinked, "Why?"

"He likes her," Will said, his lips turning down into a frown, his voice grating a bit.

Spencer froze and looked around nervously, "You don't think he's planning to abduct her, do you?" He whispered the question, eyes jerking around the parking lot to make sure that they weren't overheard.

"Hope not," Will said, "It's crowded enough with just us three, isn't it?"

"That wasn't exactly what I meant," Spencer frowned, glancing over at him.

Will sighed, "I know, I'm sorry," he said, "I'll talk to him about it." He put his arm around Spencer, watching his face carefully for a long second before relaxing. Spencer smiled and leaned his head against his shoulder for a moment, sighing contentedly. For just a second, he could almost pretend that he was completely happy.

Almost.

* * *

It was nearly midnight whenever Clarice returned home. She tore the hair tie away and tossed it off without pay attention to where it landed. She shook her head, feeling her headache dissipate slightly.

She'd spent hours sitting outside of Verger's mansion, but absolutely nothing interesting was happening lately. Nothing had happened since Pazzi's murder. It was getting boring and tedious again – not to mention she had come very close to being suspended. Jack had covered for her to make sure that she was safe, but he refused to let her back on the case so she was still sneaking around Verger's place, hoping to find something – anything – that would help them catch Lecter.

She made her way to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine she had been saving. At the moment, she didn't care about any future special occasions and she may have on the horizon; they weren't more important than her pressing need to get as drunk as she possibly could.

She hadn't even gotten the bottle open when she noticed the envelope sitting on top of her microwave. Sitting the bottle down, she reached out and picked it up, her heart racing when she saw her name written in neat calligraphy.

Unfolding it carefully, she drank in the words there, knowing who it was from before she'd even reached the end of the short note.

_My Dearest Clarice,_

_I'm sorry I was not able to see you personally, but I'm afraid that my time is quite limited of late. I will see you soon though. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps later._

_It may be asking a lot, but I do hope that you will keep this letter from your colleagues at the FBI. Knowing that I have returned to the United States will not be as helpful as knowing precisely where I am and I'm inclined to tell you that if you will be patient._

_You and I both know that this is an incredible opportunity for you. Isn't that what you want? You could very well be the young agent to bring in the infamous Dr. Hannibal Lecter. The fame, the recognition. The acknowledgement that you are worth more than some menial desk-jockey. _

_Simply wait. No more than a few days. I will contact you again and you can prove to Jack Crawford why he should have allowed you to stay on the case._

_Sincerest wishes,_

_Hannibal Lecter, M.D._

Clarice frowned. She sat the letter down and walked back to the bottle of wine, staring at it for a few minutes before finally pouring a glass, swirling the contents around before downing it in a single gulp.

She picked up the note again, staring down at it with narrow eyes. She knew very well that Lecter was appealing to her ego. She knew, but she didn't really care. He was right and if there was a chance that he would actually give her his location, she wasn't about to screw that up.

She folded the paper and carefully slid it between two cookbooks – gifts from friends that she had never used – before pouring another glass of wine and heading to the living room.

* * *

Will tried to remind himself to watch the clock. Hannibal had texted him and told him that he was going to stop by Clarice Starling's home to leave her a message – he never specified what message and Will wasn't sure he wanted to ask – over an hour earlier. He knew that they were supposed to be careful, but he had never been the best at keeping track of the time.

Spencer's lips were soft beneath his. Nothing at all like Hannibal's. His kisses were gentle and cautious, pushing on the edges of something deeper, but too nervous to actually go there. His long fingers were bony, but firm and smooth, trailing across his body like he wasn't quite sure where to touch or how to touch him.

Will was surprised when Spencer started taking control, but he didn't mind. Spencer's hands weren't rough and angry; they were pleading and half-desperate. He didn't stare with an almost cool detachment; he closed his eyes and moaned and bit his lip and rutted against him with a fiery sort of energy.

He explored Will's body as Will had explored his before they'd left Florence. He touched and kissed and tasted every part of him that he could reach and Will lay beneath him with half-lidded eyes and moved his hips in time to Spencer's, his mind clouded with pleasure and passion.

Spencer suddenly slid down, straddling Will's thighs. He glanced at Will's face carefully, curiously, before starting to kiss his way down his chest, soft lips moving against his skin. It felt so strange to have someone's mouth on him and not feel teeth sinking into his flesh. He closed his eyes and sighed softly, his lips twisting into a smile.

His eyes stayed closed until Spencer's lips closed around his straining erection and he gasped, hips jerking up slightly before he caught himself. His eyelids fluttered and he lifted his head slightly to look down at the young man.

He wasn't paying him any attention, his fingers splayed out around his waist and his messy hair – too long and ticking his thighs a bit – bobbing up and down gently.

He sucked in a sharp breath, heat pooling in his gut. He wanted to thrust his hips, but he gripped at the sheets and held himself still, getting lost in the feeling of Spencer's tongue on him, of his hot breath wafting over him. He worked slowly and carefully, like he was handling something that was precious and sacred.

After several minutes, Will couldn't bite back his moans any longer and in spite of his best efforts, his hips were twitching up into Spencer's mouth. Spencer gagged for a second, but adjusted quickly, moving faster as Will's breath started to become ragged.

His hands shakily left the sheets and found Spencer's hair, clutching at it desperately.

"Sp- Spencer…" he gasped, fighting to keep his eyes open. "Oh god… I'm gonna… I can't… Fuck!"

His hips gave a hard jerk, head pushing back against the pillow as his fingers clawed at Spencer's hair. Slowly, Spencer sat up, eyes dark and clouded, and smiled slightly as Will came down from the high of his orgasm.

His hands fell from Spencer's head, his arms entirely boneless, and he just lay there with his eyes closed and his chest faint red as his breaths puffed in and out.

Spencer climbed off of him, pressing himself against Will's limp body and putting and arm over his chest. Will felt lips against his own and he smiled, laughing breathlessly.

"You could've warned me…"

Spencer pulled away, resting his head against the crook of Will's neck, humming quietly. He started to say something, but the motel room door opened before he could and both of them instinctively jerked up, futilely trying to cover themselves before they were discovered.

Hannibal stood in the doorway, eyes practically glowing as he took in the sight before him. His hand was curled into a tight fist around the handle.

"Is there something you two would like to tell me?"

* * *

**A/N: **Head's up, next chapter is _bad. _Brace yourselves for Hannibal's reaction. It's not pretty.

Don't forget to review!


	33. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Twenty

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks as always for the reviews! Glad you're enjoying the story!

Okay, before I go any further I want to make sure that everyone understands this. This chapter is, perhaps, the worst chapter in the whole story. There has been a lot of bad things and there will be more, but this one actually made me a bit uncomfortable writing it, so please proceed with caution. I tried to make it as non-graphic as I could, but it's still bad and still very, very triggering. Please, please heed the warnings.

Warnings for this chapter include: **rape, sexual violence, possessive behavior, violence, blood, torture, Stockholm Syndrome. **Proceed with caution.

Please don't forget to review!

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Twenty**

* * *

Spencer leaned against the bathroom door and closed his eyes. His entire body was trembling and he felt like his heart was trying to burst from his chest. Hannibal had ordered him to shower without even looking at him, his entire focus being on Will. It wasn't until Spencer closed the door behind him that he realized that he had jumped from the bed without any hesitation.

He could hear Hannibal and Will in the main room, but he tried not to focus on them. Moving toward the shower he turned the water on and stood there with his arms wrapped tightly around himself, wondering what Hannibal was going to do to him.

His fingers trailed across the scar along his side and he grimaced. A part of him was wishing that he had never touched Will; that things between them had never developed. Then Hannibal wouldn't be angry and he wouldn't have to be punished. The scar tingled beneath his touch and he sucked in a harsh breath.

Hannibal had taken a kidney because he'd tried to run away. He didn't want to think about what he was going to do to him because of what he and Will had been doing.

The water was too hot when he stepped under the spray, but it distracted him from his thoughts so he welcomed the scalding heat. He didn't move to wash himself, instead simply standing under the weak jets until the water went from hot to lukewarm.

Whatever had been happening out in the room must've been over because Spencer couldn't even hear the sound of their voices any longer and his muscles tensed as he glanced toward the door. He'd left it unlocked; locking it would have only hindered Hannibal for a moment and made him angrier.

His knees suddenly felt weak and Spencer slid down into the tub, the water from the showerhead splashing into his face. Tugging his knees into his chest, he wrapped his arms tightly around his legs and fought off sobs.

What the hell was wrong with him? He was an FBI agent, or at least, he _had_ been an FBI agent. Hannibal wasn't the first serial killer he'd met or even the first one to kidnap him. His head fell back against the hard shower wall and he tried to remember why he was supposed to be fighting back.

Closing his eyes against the quickly cooling water, Spencer saw his team. Hotch and JJ and Morgan and Rossi and Garcia and Prentiss. His mother. Maeve. His chest felt tight again and tried to remember their voices, their teasing, Maeve's kisses. It was difficult and his eyes shot open, fingers trembling.

Their faces were still clear and familiar, but the sound of their voices was distant and foggy. He'd never had trouble remembering before, unless drugs were involved. He knew he missed them, he knew they cared about him and they were his only family and yet he couldn't focus on them enough to bring back proper memories.

He could feel the pressing, tugging need to see them again, but he couldn't really think of why. He felt like part of him was slowly fading away and he had stopped caring about that a long while ago.

It wasn't as if Hannibal was _cruel_. He could be rough when they had sex and harsh when he was angry, but he was never cruel unless Spencer actually did something to upset him. He still let him write to his mother and watch TV and read books and he'd mostly kept his promise about asking him to murder someone and he rarely exposed him to that part of his life any longer. He'd even let them keep Jackie in spite of the fact that Hannibal detested dogs.

Being a captive didn't seem so terrible if he forgot about Hannibal's particularly gruesome hobbies.

"What is wrong with me?" he muttered. He wasn't weak; he was supposed to be fighting back. He was supposed to be trying to escape. He simply didn't _want_ to anymore.

The water was freezing and his lips were tinged a faint blue whenever Hannibal finally entered the bathroom. Spencer didn't look up, staring dully ahead and shivering under the cold blast.

"Would you like to explain to me what I saw when I entered the motel room, Spencer?"

Spencer frowned, his brows scrunching together, and looked up at the other man. "I assumed that it was obvious,"

Hannibal's lips quirked slightly as he sat down on the closed toilet lid. His sleeves were rolled up and his suit jacket and vest were missing. He leaned over and twisted the knobs above the facet, ending the cold spray.

"What did you do to Will?" Spencer whispered the question, not quite meeting Hannibal's eyes as he asked.

Hannibal shook his head, "That is not important right now, Spencer. I want to hear your side of the story. What happened?"

Spencer didn't answer and Hannibal sighed, "Do you love him?" he asked.

He frowned, "I – I'm not… I don't know. Will's nice."

Hannibal tilted his head slightly, "Am I not kind to you, Spencer?" he asked, sounding hurt as he studied the young man. Spencer looked away and shrugged, his lips pressing together.

"You are," he whispered, "…sometimes."

"Only sometimes?"

"Will's nice all the time," Spencer said, "he doesn't hurt me. And – and he makes me feel like I'm still me. W- when I'm with you I don't… I don't feel like _me_."

"I see," Hannibal said. He hadn't raised his voice. He didn't seem upset at all, just mildly hurt. His face was serene and placid to anyone who hadn't spent enough time with him to noticed the slightly tense set of his jaw or the dark glint in his eyes. Hannibal's entire body was poised and tensed to do _something_.

"You're angry," Spencer didn't usually feel the need to point out the obvious, but he wanted Hannibal to actually show his anger. He would rather the man screamed and yelled than just sit there and stare at him.

"I am," Hannibal inclined his head, "I'm very angry. I'm also hurt that you would do something like this and think you could hide it from me."

Spencer tightened his grip on his knees, "I'm sorry,"

"Sorry that you and Will were having sex or sorry that I caught you?"

"I…" Spencer hesitated. He knew the answer that Hannibal wanted to hear, but he also knew that lying would only make him angrier. "I don't know."

Hannibal nodded somberly, "That is upsetting,"

"I know," he said, "I'm sorry." It seemed useless to repeat the apology; it wasn't going to change Hannibal's feelings about this, after all. But he felt guilt twisting in his gut and he had to do something to alleviate it.

"So you've said," Hannibal murmured, "I have had suspicions about your relationship with William for some time. Perhaps it was foolishness on my part not to take more precautions against this sooner." He eyed Spencer's scrunched up form with a frown.

"Has he penetrated you?"

"Wh-What!?" Spencer tried in vain to pull his legs tighter to his chest, staring up at Hannibal with wide eyes.

Hannibal sighed, "Has he fucked you?"

Spencer winced and looked away, nodding and muttering his answer.

"I didn't hear you, Spencer,"

There was a new edge to Hannibal's tone and Spencer whispered a bit louder. Hannibal crossed his arms and shook his head, "Spencer, it is incredibly rude to look away from someone when you're speaking to them."

Very slowly, Spencer turned his head toward Hannibal and met his eyes, biting down hard on his lower lip.

"Now, has William fucked you?" he demanded.

Spencer swallowed, "Y-Yes," he said, his voice faltering and cracking.

Hannibal's face remained unchanged. He sat perfectly still for what felt to Spencer like an eternity.

"Stand up,"

Spencer reluctantly obeyed, his knees still feeling unsteady. He flinched when Hannibal stood and wrapped an arm around his midsection, pulling him from the tub. Spencer shivered, suddenly realizing just how cold he was now that Hannibal's warm arm was supporting him.

He wanted so badly to lean against Hannibal and have the other man hold him until he wasn't cold anymore, but he stayed as still as he could and waited for Hannibal make the next move.

All too quickly, Hannibal's arm around his waist vanished and Spencer wrapped his arms across his chest. Hannibal turned briefly to get a towel and frowned when he turned back, shaking his head.

"Keep your arms at your side,"

Spencer dropped his arms and frowned when Hannibal started to dry him with the rough towel.

"I can dry myself…" he said weakly.

Hannibal said nothing and continued to scrub his chest and arms, eventually kneeling to do his legs and feet. When he stood again, he discarded the towel and studied him a moment longer. Spencer fought the urge to shudder.

"You understand that I must punish you," Hannibal said.

Spencer nodded, "Yes," he said.

"Good. Perhaps it is a flaw of my personality, but I am disinclined to share what it is mine. That includes people," Hannibal said, "Follow me."

Spencer's feet seemed to be rooted to the floor as Hannibal left the bathroom, the door standing open behind him. It took several seconds for him to be able to move and when he finally did, he did so as slowly as possible.

He tried not to actually look at the room, but it was impossible. Will was lying on his bed. He wasn't moving. For a horrifying second Spencer thought he was dead, but he was definitely breathing. He was pale and bruised and naked and there was blood on his thighs and Spencer suddenly felt like he was going to vomit.

Will's face was already starting to bruise and there were several very precise looking cuts along his stomach and torso.

"D-Did you… did you rape him?" Spencer's voice trembled and he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the sight. He tasted the bile in the back of his throat, but fought not to let it come all the way up.

Hannibal's hand descended on his shoulder and he jumped.

"Not exactly,"

"What do you -?"

Hannibal grasped his chin and turned his head toward the small table between the two beds where a knife was sitting, dripping blood. Spencer started trembling and he shook his head.

"You didn't… you…" He felt dizzy and lightheaded and started to turn away, not knowing where he was going or what he was going to do, but knowing he had to get away from that motel room.

Hannibal caught him before he could take a step, his arms like iron around his chest.

"Shh," he crooned in his ear and Spencer clenched his eyes shut, "Calm down, Spencer," he said gently, "He will be fine."

"Please… Hannibal, I -"

"Go lie down on the other bed," Hannibal instructed, "I will be there in a moment."

His legs felt like jello and his heart was aching against his ribs, but Spencer obeyed, fighting the urge to curl up because he knew Hannibal wouldn't like that.

Hannibal picked up the bloody knife and went into the bathroom once more. Spencer could hear the sink and assumed he was cleaning the blood away. He closed his eyes against the horrible images that were starting to fill in his mind. He didn't want to think about it at all.

A moment later, he felt something rough and warm lick at his face and he scrunched his nose, opening his eyes to see Jackie. She had leapt onto the bed without him noticing. She'd been oddly quietly for the last few hours.

With a watery smile, Spencer reached out and petted her, feeling some small part of him relax at the sight of the little dog. He'd never really gotten along with dogs or most other animals before, but Jackie had taken an unexpected liking to him and she was definitely something fun to break up the daily horror of his new life.

Hannibal's upper lips curled just slightly when he came out of the bathroom and spotted the dog on the bed.

"Remove the dog," he ordered.

Spencer shooed her away and Jackie hopped from the bed quickly, returning to the little bed they had for her near the door. She lay down, but her eyes were still trained toward them and she whined a bit.

Hannibal sat on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed, and watched Spencer for a long moment. Spencer was trying his best not to look at him, pale and trembling a little – both with fear and the cold.

Without warning, Hannibal reached out and smoothed a stray curl away from Spencer's face. The young man flinched, but Hannibal didn't pull away, his fingers lingering for a moment before tracing down Spencer's jaw and throat, just barely touching the cold flesh.

Spencer pressed his lips together and said nothing, just waiting for the inevitable pain.

"Do you remember when I told you about my sister?"

Spencer's brows furrowed and he sucked in a sharp breath. Where had that question come from?

"M-Mischa?" he whispered the name uncertainly. Hannibal nodded, his jaw twitching just slightly, His fingers continued to trail over Spencer's skin, sending shivers over his body.

"Yes," he said. For the first time since the night Hannibal had told Spencer about his sister, his voice was somber and quiet. Not quite as detached.

"I loved her very much," he said, his fingers finding a home in Spencer's damp curls. He carefully carded through his hair, petting him gently as he spoke.

"She was very young, as I told you. Smart and sweet and innocent. She did not deserve her fate,"

The fingers in hair tugged a little harder and Spencer winced slightly.

"W-What do…" he hesitated and started again, "What do you think she would think of you now? If – If she met you?"

Hannibal's lips twisted into something like a smile, "She would likely be horrified at what I have become," he acknowledged, "but I cannot blame the… men who killed her entirely for my current activities. Perhaps I would not be quite the same man I am today, but I have no doubt that my path would be very similar."

Spencer frowned, not knowing exactly what to say. He didn't know why Hannibal was bringing this up and it was a subject that was incredibly sensitive. It had taken years to get Hannibal to tell him about his past and even then, only after Hannibal had kidnapped him.

"What does… I mean, what happened to your sister was horrible," he said, his voice wobbling, "When those men killed her -"

"They did not kill her," Hannibal's tone was sharp and his fingers yanked hard on his hair, "They _butchered_ her and they forced me to consume her."

Spencer winced and closed his eyes, "It was terrible," he said quietly, "but… why do you do it to other people?"

"Because they deserve it," Hannibal said, "Mischa did not. Nor do you…" his eyes traveled to Will and he frowned, "Not even Will."

"Why not?" Spencer frowned, "I… You would kill either of us if you had to. You wouldn't hesitate."

"Of course," Hannibal nodded, "but only out of necessity for my own survival. It isn't necessary and so you both are alive. Will is very much like me, Spencer. He may refuse to see it, but it's true. He can only deny it for so long. And you… you remind me of Mischa."

"What!?"

Hannibal smiled and sat up, "Mischa was innocent and quite naïve about the world around her sometimes. Even at her age, she was intelligent and compassionate and selfless. You are innocent. At times I think you perhaps are too innocent considering the horrors that you face within your life. It's astounding that you hold on to such an idyllic view of the world and cling so desperately to your ideas of justice and good and evil. It is childish, but it is endearing."

Spencer wasn't entirely sure what to make of that. He reminded Hannibal of his dead little sister? His mind felt so backwards that he wasn't sure if that was supposed to be disturbing or not, but it made him feel a little sick.

"I was fiercely protective of her," Hannibal said, "I do not like people harming someone for whom I care."

Spencer frowned, "Will didn't hurt me," he said.

"I know," Hannibal said, "but you both lied to me and that is unforgiveable, Spencer." He paused for a long second, studying him with an odd look on his face before continuing,

"Roll onto your stomach,"

Spencer frowned, "W-"

"Spencer,"

Pressing his lips together, Spencer nodded. He rolled over carefully, suddenly feeling a lot more vulnerable with his back exposed to Hannibal. He fought the urge to curl up and tried to let his body go limp, but his muscles were tensed and tight and he was trembling slightly.

He felt the familiar weight when Hannibal straddled him from behind and his warm, rough hands were suddenly on his back, drifting up toward his shoulders.

"You understand why this is happening, correct?"

Spencer nodded and kept his lips pressed together to keep from whimpering.

Hannibal's hands on him were surprisingly gentle. They were warm and firm, but calloused and rough, careful not to press too hard.

And then Spencer closed his eyes tight, biting his lip when he felt the first sharp bite of the knife.

* * *

Clarice tapped her fingers against Lecter's note as she sat down at her desk. She should tell someone about the note. At the very least, she should let Jack Crawford know that Hannibal Lecter had been _inside of her house_. But she couldn't bring herself to take the elevator up to his office and tell him. She felt no real urge to do so.

She remembered Dr. Reid's warning when Jack had first sent her to interview Lecter. She'd thought at the time that it was just a routine interview. Dr. Reid's warnings had seemed founded, given his experience with Lecter, but ridiculous to apply to herself.

They still seemed ridiculous.

She knew that she should probably be scared of Lecter. He was a vicious, sadistic psychopath, after all. She'd seen the crime scene photos. She'd talked to Will Graham and Spencer Reid. She knew what the man was capable of. Yet she found herself more intrigued than frightened.

Dr. Lecter wasn't boring. He wasn't the everyday, run-of-the-mill psycho. He was intelligent, charming, sharp and one of the most perceptive people she'd ever met.

Maybe Dr. Reid was right. Maybe she'd let Lecter get to close. She'd certainly crossed a few lines where he was involved and didn't regret it for one second. She'd do it again if she had to.

She sat the bag down, leaving the note safely tucked away, and kept her eye on the clock, wondering when she'd hear from Lecter next.

* * *

Will spent the better part of the day in bed. Hannibal had once again departed early, all traces of his earlier anger gone now that he had taken care of the problem.

"Are you going to find out what Verger's doing or are you going to ogle Starling again?" Will bit the words out, unable to hide the smirk at Hannibal's amused smile. There weren't many people who would dare talk to Hannibal that way, especially after what he had done to Will only hours before.

"I promised Clarice I would speak to her again, in person,"

"And you always keep your promises," Will said.

Hannibal nodded, "Always, dear Will. Failure to deliver on a promise is quite rude."

"Is it?" Will frowned, pushing himself up weakly by the elbows. Hannibal had cleaned and bandaged all of his wounds and, though he was in pain, he was able to move. Will could handle the pain. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as the fear.

"It is. Whatever you are planning to do, William, I would advise against much movement. You should stay in bed. However, since I know you aren't going to listen, I will simply ask that you are careful. And if you absolutely must leave the motel room, do not take Spencer with you."

Will frowned, raising a brow, "I'm supposed to just leave him locked up in here alone?"

"He needs to rest," Hannibal said, "I do not want him leaving."

Will sighed, "Fine. I'll play along. But I want to talk to you when you get back… About him. And Clarice."

Hannibal pursed his lips. He had a good idea of what Will wanted to talk about, and though he certainly had no plans of wavering to Will's arguments, he would at least let Will have a chance to speak his piece. He didn't want Will to become irrational and he didn't want to push him away too far. Some give and take was necessary.

"Take care of him," he said, inclining his head toward Spencer, "I will return later."

* * *

Spencer woke to the sound of Will grunting in exacerbation. He didn't risk rolling onto his back – in spite of the over-the-counter pain medication and the bandages, his lower back was throbbing painfully. He had no idea what Hannibal had carved into him there, but it had taken him a long time to finish.

Of course, that might have been partly due to him pausing every few minutes to slide his fingers in and out of him at a torturously slow pace. He hadn't let him orgasm, but kept him right on the edge in a horrifying combination of pain and pleasure that sent his head spinning.

The sheets, at least, were clean. Hannibal had insisted on that, refusing to let either of them sleep on filthy sheets.

Will's pained grunting pulled his attention back to the other bed where Will was trying to finish dressing. It looked like a difficult task with the bandages and stitches. Spencer couldn't imagine how it felt.

"What –" he paused and cleared his dry, aching throat, "What are you doing?"

Will looked up at him, blinking with wide eyes as if he'd only just realized Spencer was in the room.

"I'm going out," he said, "Taking Jackie for a walk. I'll bring you back something to eat, alright?"

Spencer frowned and tried to sit up, but the pain was overwhelming in his back. He had no idea how Will was working through it.

"What about me?"

"Stay here," Will said, "Keep quiet. I'll be back soon…"

He finally stood and hesitated, hovering near the bed Spencer was lying on. Gently, as if terrified he would break, he put a hand on Spencer's bare shoulder blade, hardly touching him at all.

"I'll get you back to your team, Spencer," he said, "The second Hannibal takes us to Quantico. Don't worry."

Spencer smiled faintly and nodded. Part of him wanted to thank Will and to apologize; another part, that was growing steadily louder and more dominant, wanted to tell him to forget about "saving" him. It seemed that the closer he got to freedom, the less he wanted it.

The thought really should've terrified him.

But it didn't.

* * *

**A/N: **Brief little note on Hannibal's behavior in this chapter: I have driven myself to insanity trying to figure out whether or not Hannibal's "punishment" here is OOC or not. It is rather extreme and... crude, which may not entirely fit with his usual methods. However, I eventually decided that it isn't so badly OOC that it doesn't make sense. This version of Hannibal is a mixture of the TV Hannibal, the film Hannibal and the novel Hannibal, plus Hannibal Lecter is a very violent and vicious character with clearly sadistic tendencies. That, plus at this point in the story Hannibal is a bit... in over his head, even if he isn't willing to admit it. That, plus his possessive streak that's about fifty miles wide... well. Yeah. Hopefully that makes sense.

Don't forget to review!


	34. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Twenty-One

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks as always for the reviews! Glad you're enjoying the story! Sorry this is late. Real life has been kicking me in the ass lately.

Warnings for this chapter: kidnapping, cannibalism, general creepiness, weird and vague religious talk that isn't really religious talk, aftermath of torture, Stockholm Syndrome.

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Twenty-One**

* * *

Clarice found the message waiting for her when she got back from lunch. It was in a stark orange manila envelope, taped shut with not return address and only her name, written in bold, clear cursive on the front. Her hands trembled a bit as she slit the tape. Protocol was running through her head, telling her that she should be wearing gloves, that she should notify the SAC, that she should go to the forensics lab and hand this over to Palmer and Katz.

She ignored all of the regulations and carefully shook the contents of the envelope out onto her desk. The first thing to tumble out was a clear plastic container, containing a moth inside. Her heart thudded in her chest as she lifted it up and studied it, remembering when she'd done something very similar during the Buffalo Bill case.

The second was a carefully cut sheet of cardstock with Lecter's familiar handwriting on it. The name of a nearby restaurant where she often ate lunch was printed there, with a time and a short message:

_5:00 P.M., Clarice. I'll be waiting. Don't be late._

Her hands were shaking even harder at that point. With anyone else, the trembling would have been because of fear, but Clarice wasn't scared. She was excited. She checked the envelope for anything else, just to make sure that she hadn't missed anything.

There was nothing save for empty space. She sat there, lightly tracing her finger over the sealed plastic case with the moth, lost in thought. After several minutes, she knew that this was something she couldn't likely keep to herself. She carefully put the moth and note back inside the envelope and stood, hurrying to the elevators in the hall.

She was grateful that the elevator was empty as she stepped on. Her fingers tapped restlessly against the envelope and she tried to run herself through Jack's reaction to her news. He'd be upset that she hadn't come to him sooner, but likely – hopefully – would overlook that once he realized what a lead she had given him.

Part of her couldn't help but feel a bit guilty, of course. Lecter had asked her not to tell anyone. He wanted to speak to her specifically and she felt like she was betraying him somehow. He wouldn't like that. But she did have a duty to do, after all. Besides, there was the chance she could convince Jack to let her meet Lecter at the restaurant anyway. It wasn't impossible.

The BAU seemed extra busy that afternoon. She spotted Dr. Reid's team members and Jack's own – along with Dr. Bloom – bustling about. It was likely because of the recent lead they'd found on Lecter, even though the man had slipped away again.

The envelope suddenly felt hot in her grip.

Jack's office door was open and Agents Hotchner and Blake were inside, Blake leaning over the desk with her hair pushed back as she studied something on Jack's tablet. Hotchner was standing in front of the desk, the same stern, carefully emotionless expression on his face as always.

Clarice tapped gently on the door and the three senior agents looked up with wide eyes.

A look of half-annoyance crossed Jack's face and Clarice frowned at it. He started to say something, but she cut him off.

"I was wondering if I could speak to you, Sir," she said, her accent slipping a bit with her anger flaring at Jack's impatient frown. "It's about the Lecter case…"

She trailed off and met Blake's sympathetic gaze. The older woman understood Clarice's longing to be on the case, her drive to prove herself worthy.

"I'm sorry, Agent Starling, I don't have time to discuss anything right now," Jack's tone was impersonal, clipped. Clarice's fingers tightened convulsively around the envelope in her hands. She was holding it blank-side out so that they couldn't see her name scrawled in Lecter's handwriting.

"I understand that, but this is important I –"

"Starling," Jack cut her off and her face settled into a scowl, "I know how badly you want to work this case and you've been a tremendous help to us so far, but it's just not possible. You haven't been in the field long enough and Lecter is a dangerous criminal. Frankly, after Reid and Graham, the Director's concerned about anyone getting close on this one…"

There was a hint of guilt there, buried under the superior, commanding tone. It didn't make Clarice's blood any less hot. Her jaw twitched and her next words were thick with her natural southern accent.

"I said I understand, Agent Crawford. This isn't about that, I want to -"

"I'm sure it can wait, Starling. We're tied up at the moment. Unless this is life or death, I don't want to hear it," Jack seemed to be at his wit's end. The case was draining him. Mocking him. That one huge, obvious blemish on an otherwise near perfect career. He wanted Lecter caught and gone.

Clarice held the envelope a bit tighter. She held the answer to all his problems in her hands and seconds ago she might've given it to him, but then he turned away and back to the tablet on his desk. Blake shot her an apologetic look, but it changed nothing.

She didn't like being dismissed. She didn't like be treated like she was some naïve child. She'd proven herself again and again. She was a damn good agent, in the field and out of it and Jack Crawford had just tossed her aside like she was nothing after he'd finished using her for his own stupid games with Lecter.

Clarice spun out of the office and back to the elevators. She still had a few hours before five and she wanted to make sure she was ready. If Jack didn't want to listen to her and help her pursue the lead, she'd just have to do it on her own. She would bring Lecter down by herself if that's what it took.

* * *

It felt strange to Will, walking down the well-worn sidewalks with Jackie in tow and seeing the familiar sights. He wasn't that far from Wolf Trap. Not that far from Quantico. His old life was so unbearably close that he could feel it like an ache in his chest.

He wondered how Molly had handled his disappearance. What had she told Willy? A spike of guilt shot through him suddenly. He'd liked Molly – maybe loved her, he couldn't be sure anymore. He'd liked Willy too. It had been an alien experience to have a child look up to him.

Willy had already lost one father and because of him he'd lost his chance at a second. Not that it matter overmuch, really. Willy had never called Will dad and Will had never wanted him to.

Those last few weeks, separated from Molly, had been strained. He doubted that they'd have worked it out anyway – his secretive, dangerous past and the history he'd kept from her had likely tainted her image of him. It was for the best that he'd left before things had gotten too ugly.

At least, that was what he told himself.

He felt like he was being sucked into a dark storm. Hannibal had always meant stability and clarity until now. Now, he was starting to question himself, Hannibal and everything he knew.

He couldn't say he hadn't known Hannibal was a sick, possessive bastard. He certainly couldn't say he was in any way misunderstood or misguided. Hannibal was the closest to evil a person could get, at least in Will's opinion. He'd felt, at one time, that the dangerous aura Hannibal gave off was exciting, exhilarating. He wondered when it had started to drift back into frightening – because he _was_ scared of Hannibal and there was no sense denying it.

Maybe he was jealous. He hated Hannibal touching Spencer, hated him focusing on the younger man in any way. He felt sick at the idea of him going after Clarice Starling as well. The only thing he didn't know was if he was jealous of Hannibal… or Spencer. He couldn't tell anymore, everything was so jumbled and screwed up.

He sighed and looked down at the little dog trailing in front of him on her leash.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore, Jackie," he said lightly, "I love him too much to hate him and I hate him too much to love him. And he scares the hell out of me…" He trailed off, searching the horizon and sighing.

"I thought I was crazy before," he snorted, "Now I'm trying to get advice from my dog…"

A derisive laugh escaped his lips and he rubbed a hand roughly over his face, shaking his head.

God, he was fucked up.

* * *

Will was sore and aching all over by the time he got back to the motel room, but the walk had been beneficial, at least. His head felt a bit clearer. He still wasn't sure how he felt about Hannibal or Spencer, but he knew he wasn't content to sit idly by and watch Hannibal destroy the younger man, so that, at least, was something. Maybe.

Spencer was sitting up, awkwardly leaning against the headboard to try and ease the pressure off his back. Will frowned when he knelt and unhooked the leash from Jackie's collar.

"You alright?"

"Sore," was Spencer's stiff reply. His was staring at the wall, a faint frown on his face.

Will didn't press him, turning and setting the bag he was carrying down on the table.

"I bought food," he said carefully, "It's not much. Greasy fried chicken, but I figure -"

"I'd rather eat what Hannibal cooked," Spencer was still frowning, staring away and not quite at him. Will frowned and eased onto the opposite bed carefully, fighting not to let the grimace show as he did.

"You would?" he raised a brow, jolting slightly in surprise as Jackie leapt onto the bed and pushed her head beneath his hands. He scratched her ears gently while Spencer pressed his lips together in thought.

"He'll be upset if I don't. …If we don't."

"He will…" Will spoke carefully, "but you were so sick yesterday you couldn't even think about eating it."

Spencer's jaw flexed slightly, "I don't want to make him angry, Will,"

"If this is about yesterday -"

"Of course it's about that," there was a lot of bite in Spencer's voice, despite how quiet he was being. He bit his lip and frowned, "It's not a good idea to provoke him, Will."

Will's fingerers stilled on Jackie's head and he sighed, nodding.

"Alright," he said, "Fine. No fried chicken. Just… don't worry, alright? I'll make sure you get back to your team, Spencer."

Spencer made a strange noise, somewhere between a cough and a whimper. Will frowned.

"I – I don't know if I want to go back,"

"Of course you do!"

Spencer finally looked at him, eyes wide and dark and round. He stared right into his eyes and for the life of him, Will couldn't turn away.

"Do you?" he asked, his voice soft, "If you could walk away, right now, would you?"

He hesitated. After too many seconds he dropped his gaze to Jackie and her dark fur, tangling his fingers in it for a moment and petting her.

Spencer turned away, taking a shuddering breath, "That's what I thought…"

Things were silent and tense for a long minute before Will stood – pointedly ignoring the screaming of his injuries as he did. He studied Spencer a little longer before turning away and heading to the bathroom where Hannibal had left the first aid kit.

Spencer hadn't moved by the time he came back out. He sat it down gently on the bed and popped it open.

"I need to change that bandage," he said, "Hannibal will be pissed if I leave it all day."

Spencer hesitated and then slowly slid forward without a word, bending over so that Will could pull off the tape that held the gauze in place. The smell of antiseptic and blood hit him as he carefully tore it away and his face screwed into a mask of uncomfortable nausea as he stared down at the pale skin underneath.

Without thinking, he reached forward and traced one of the long, carefully cut marks there and shook his head.

He was just starting to tape the new bandage in place when Spencer broke the silence.

"W-What did he carve?" his voice was timid, like he didn't really want to know.

Will didn't answer immediately, instead finishing what he was doing and then snapping the first aid kit closed again, gently helping Spencer lean upright once more. He caught Spencer's searching, half-desperate eyes and quickly looked away, standing.

"He wrote the word 'MINE'," he whispered.

He pretended he didn't noticed the wide-eyed horror on Spencer's face as he returned the kit to the bathroom.

* * *

Clarice arrived early for her meeting with Lecter, impatience coloring her every movement. Her leg jolted up and down against the outside patio seat until she crossed her legs and instead found herself tapping her fingers against the manila envelope again.

It was 4:30. She had half an hour. Somehow, she doubted very much if Lecter was going to show before 5:00. She expected he would be an extremely punctual man, organized and orderly down to the last detail.

She had ordered a coffee, but left it cooling in front of her, searching the people passing by to enter the restaurant proper. It was chilly as the night drew closer and the fading light made everything more ambiguous.

Lost in her scrutiny of the other patrons, she jumped at the sound of a voice behind her.

"Agent Starling!"

Female. Smooth and carefully articulated. Not Lecter.

A hand grazed her shoulder and she twitched away with a frown as Freddie Lounds walked into her line of sight and took the empty seat across from her without asking. Lounds' ravenous gaze settled on the envelope and her lips quirked as she held a hand out.

"We haven't been properly introduced," she said, "I'm Freddie Lounds -"

"I know who you are Miss Lounds and I'd appreciate it if you would leave," Clarice's voice was hard. She already had little patience for reporters or journalist and Lounds was the worst of them all. She remembered the article Lounds had written about Crawford tossing her aside after Lecter's escape. Her gut coiled in anger and her fingers curled around the envelope possessively.

The smile never left Freddie's face, "I just want a quick word, Agent Staring. I understand the BAU recently got a fresh lead on Dr. Lecter's location and -"

"I'm no longer working that case," Clarice bit the words out, "You already know that."

Lounds' smile turned slick and she leaned forward, "Well, not _officially_, but I hear that the lead came from you, Agent Starling. It's not exactly a secret that Dr. Lecter took a particular liking to you during the Buffalo Bill case."

Clarice sat up a bit straighter and frowned. How did Lounds know she'd been the one to give Jack the lead about Florence and Pazzi?

"I passed along information I became privy to," Clarice stated, keeping her lips tight and her tone as neutral as possible. "I'm still not working on the case."

"I hear you spoke to Lecter on the phone," Freddie said, eyes gleaming as Clarice fought to control her expression.

She narrowed her eyes, starting to say something when Lounds cut her off again,

"We could help each other, Agent Starling," she said, "I want information and you want in on the case. It's a simple matter, really. You pass along whatever you know and I'll be sure to make sure you get the recognition Jack Crawford and the FBI won't give you."

Clarice tilted her head, "I'm not interested in your kind of help," she said, "And you seem to have quite a bit of information already."

"All speculation," Freddie waved a hand dismissively, "I want something straight from the source. Don't be so quick to reject my offer; I've got connections."

"I'm very aware of that," Clarice said, "and my answer is still no."

Freddie frowned and leaned back, "Okay, so you don't want to talk about Lecter," she said, "Maybe a different topic then. Care to explain why you've been shadowing Mason Verger? Without, I assume, a court order?"

Clarice paled and then her body went entirely still. She leaned forward and met Lounds' eyes in a dangerous, defiant glare, "I really think you should leave, Miss Lounds," she said, "before I lose my patience."

Freddie's smile was back and she stood slowly, slipping a crisp business card over to her.

"Fair enough," she said, "If you change your mind, you know where to contact me."

Clarice picked up the card as Freddie walked away. She glanced down at it and glowered, trying to tell herself it would be childish to rip the thing to pieces. She checked her watched and nearly groaned in annoyance.

4:48.

And still there had been no sign of Dr. Lecter.

She forced herself to sit back and relax, though her fingers still tapped restlessly against the envelope.

At 4:59 she sat up straighter, eyes shining alertly as she scanned the patrons going in and out. The people milling around on the sidewalk nearby. Surely he had to be somewhere close. She kept her eyes carefully open, wondering where he could be and if he'd keep the appointment or not.

But of course he would. It would be _rude_ not to show up.

At five o'clock on the dot she heard the familiar, accented voice sound from the table directly behind her.

"You've been waiting quite some time, Clarice,"

She jolted in her seat and started to turn around, but his voice stopped her.

"Don't turn around," he said quickly, "It would be unwise for anyone to assume that you snuck away from your desk at the FBI to meet a notorious serial killer."

Clarice frowned, "What makes you so sure I haven't alerted the bureau already? There could be agents planted all over the place."

She could hear the smile in Lecter's voice, "Hmm… there could. Did you, though, Clarice? Did you really go to Uncle Jack and tell him about my letters? You know, I asked you very politely not to…"

Clarice hesitated and shook her head, "I started to," she admitted, "but I didn't. I'm here alone."

"Wonderful," Lecter sounded utterly delighted. Her heart was racing in her chest. He was mere feet away – probably less. She could have reached out and touched him if she wanted, but some sense of propriety and self-preservation stopped her from doing so.

"Is there anything particular you wanted to speak to me about, Dr. Lecter?"

"As a matter of fact," Lecter said, "there is. I want to know what you've learned about my old acquaintance, Mr. Verger. It seems he's been up to some less-than-commendable activities lately and I'd like to rectify that."

"You can't go near him!" Clarice blurted, eyes wide, "He'll kill you."

Lecter chuckled, a strangely light sound, "Your concern for my welfare is touching, Clarice, but I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."

Clarice might have been red with embarrassment, but her focus was too much on Lecter to allow for embarrassment at that moment.

"You came all this way and risked capture just to kill Verger?" she asked, her tone careful and clipped.

"Not to kill him," Hannibal said, "I wouldn't want that. I didn't kill him before because I much prefer him just the way he is. You've seen him, haven't you? Gruesome."

Clarice shivered a bit at the memory, "You did that to him,"

"I made the outside reflect the inside," he said, "Now he cannot hide what he truly is."

"You mean like you hide what you are, Dr. Lecter?"

"Touché," Lecter said, sounding mildly amused, "I suppose I do wear a mask as well. Though, I never hide what I am from myself in private company."

"So you're a better kind of monster than Verger?"

"If you want to phrase it like that…" Lecter said, "but I didn't come here to discuss my nature or Mason's. I came to discuss Mason's future plans and your role in helping me."

Clarice frowned, "You think I'll help you?"

"You're a bright girl, Clarice," Lecter said, "Surely you can see that helping stop not one but two monsters, as you put it, would aid your career immensely."

"And you're just going to turn yourself over when this is finished?"

Lecter chuckled again, "I wouldn't make it that easy," he said, "But as I said, you're bright. Surely you could think of something."

Clarice hesitated, "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Doctor," she said, "Helping one psychopath stop another…"

"I'll give you some time then," Lecter said, "but I can't wait for long. I'll call you in three days time."

She heard his chair scraping against the concrete and felt the gentle weight of a hand pressing into her shoulder, but when she turned around he was gone.

Biting her lip, she looked back at the envelope, fingers becoming restless again. It probably said something that her first immediate action _wasn't_ to pick up her cell phone and call Jack Crawford. But she wasn't going to analyze her actions. She was far busier trying to decide what to make of Lecter's offer.

* * *

Spencer and Will were both still awake when Hannibal returned. They were sitting on opposite beds watching the news. As soon as he entered the room, Will muted the TV and turned to give him a frown.

"How'd you're talk with Starling go?"

Hannibal heard the bite of sarcasm and bitterness in Will's tone, but ignored it for the moment. He slipped his suit jacket and shoes off, carefully rolling up his sleeves as he crossed the room to the bed Spencer was sitting on.

"Productive," he said off-handedly, "Or, I should say, I believe it was productive. Clarice is not going to simply allow herself to be pulled along, but I'm sure she will decide to help."

"You seem confident,"

"I am," Hannibal said, watching Will carefully.

"Over-confidence is a flaw," Will said, not looking at him. Incredibly rude. "It leads to pride. And pride always comes before the fall. It's what got Lucifer kicked out of Heaven, remember?"

Hannibal's smile was sharp as he sat down carefully next to Spencer, kissing him softly on the forehead. The young man hadn't said a word yet, but he leaned into Hannibal when he sat down and the older man wrapped an arm possessively around him.

"Perhaps, but Lucifer's fall from Grace gave him reign over his own kingdom, did it not?"

Will didn't respond to that and Hannibal turned his attention to Spencer.

"You seem tired," Hannibal said, frowning at the dark bags beneath his eyes, "I told you to rest."

Spencer's eyes darted up to Hannibal, "I did," he said, "it's not easy to rest when you're in pain."

Hannibal didn't comment on that, instead running his fingers through his hair. After a moment, Spencer shifted closer and tilted his head toward him, his hazel eyes keen and surprisingly alert. It reminded Hannibal of the way they'd looked whenever Spencer had first met him. Full of fire and determination.

"Do you think… when you're finished here do you think I could see my team again? Just once. To say goodbye properly. I didn't get to the first time,"

Hannibal considered that, holding Spencer tighter to him, "You would try to run away again, Spencer."

"I wouldn't," and there wasn't a trace of dishonesty in his answer, "I don't think I could if I wanted to…"

"Do you want to?"

"…I don't think so…"

Hannibal smiled and kissed his hair, pressing his head into the crook of his neck, "I will consider it then," he said gently. Spencer smiled and pulled himself closer to Hannibal's warmth.

"Thank you,"

Hannibal was aware of Will's eyes on him the entire time, but said nothing. Will wanted to speak with him, but didn't want to do so in front of Spencer. He waited nearly twenty minutes before Spencer finally fell asleep.

"I want to talk to you," Will said, his voice stiff, "About Spencer and Clarice."

Hannibal quirked a brow and stared at him, waiting.

"I… I think you should stop," he said.

"Stop?"

Will took a deep breath, "Stop what you're doing to them. Stop screwing around with Spencer's head, stop trying to pull Starling in. Leave them along."

"Why should I?"

"Decency?" Will muttered, "Because it's the right thing? Do you even have any sense of human emotion?"

Hannibal's smirk was dangerous animalistic, "Of course I do," he said, "What I feel is that I am not forcing Clarice to do anything and by Spencer's on admission, he no longer wants to leave."

Will frowned, "He doesn't deserve this, Hannibal!"

"He has decided otherwise."

Will clenched his fists and leaned back, "Fine," he said harshly, "Do what you want. Do be surprised when you break him so badly he's not interesting anymore."

* * *

The next day passed much the same as the one before. Hannibal left early in the morning, probably to see how close to Verger's mansion he could get. He hadn't divulged his plan just yet, but Will was sure it was going to take a lot of methodical work.

Breakfast was quiet and Will left shortly after to take Jackie out again. Spencer wanted to come with him, but didn't protest when Will told him that he couldn't. Walking still hurt and pain jolted through him with every step.

The air was clean and fresh and familiar and Will let his mind drift, free of Hannibal's presence or the presence of other monsters. Alone with only the monster of his own making. It was, at least, less crowded that way.

He stayed close to the motel, only venturing a few blocks away. He stopped for a while in a small park and played with Jackie. Part of him wanted to go back and bring Spencer with him, but he immediately discarded that idea.

It was only an hour that he was gone. He talked to Jackie as they headed back. It felt familiar. He'd talked to his dogs a lot when they were his only company. He tried not to think too much about them. It sent a surge of sorrow and grief to his gut, wondering what Molly had done with the dogs when he vanished.

He hoped she'd at least found good homes for them. And maybe let Willy keep one or two. He'd loved them so much.

He smiled faintly as he lifted Jackie into his arms and slid the keycard into the door's lock. It was quiet as he pushed the door open and sat Jackie down, unhooking her leash. He didn't notice anything strange until he shut the door and straightened up.

Spencer was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

**TBC**


	35. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Twenty-Two

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

**A/N: **Thanks as always for the reviews! Glad you're enjoying the story! I know this is unforgivably late. Real life is still kicking me in the ass. Hope you all had a very Merry Christmas, or whatever holiday you might celebrate.

_Warnings for this chapter_: kidnapping, general creepiness, aftermath of torture, Stockholm Syndrome, and **RAPE - **it isn't terribly graphic, but the scene is still potentially triggering so please proceed with caution.

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

* * *

Spencer woke slowly, his head aching as he opened his eyes and blinked several times. He jerked up when he didn't recognize the room and grimaced as he felt the harsh metal bite of handcuffs dig into his wrists. Tilting his head back, he saw his hands cuffed, the thin chain laced between the bars of a wooden headboard.

He forced himself not to panic as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember what had happened. He remembered lying on the bed in the motel room, waiting for Will to return. He remembered hearing a noise at the door – a quick, metallic scraping noise that grated against his nerves and made him wince. He'd tried to sit up, to go to the window and peer out to see who was there, but he moved slowly, his back protesting against the bandages and the stinging pain.

By the time he'd managed to get to his feet – unsteady and slow – the door was opened. A man, darkly tanned with greasy black hair and coal colored eyes, burst inside the room, followed by another, shorter man of similar appearance, only with smaller eyes and longer hair.

Their eyes found Spencer quickly and his instincts and training told him to fight, but his body was tired and sore and he couldn't force it to obey as he tried to find a weapon and lifted his hands to defend himself.

One swift blow to the head and he was out.

He was grateful he remembered that much. Head trauma was usually accompanied by memory loss and he'd had quite enough of that in the last year.

His eyes opened again, cautiously. Studying the room, he realized it was large and opulent. The bed he was on was soft and the covers he was lying on top of felt clean. The walls were white, the floors glistening hardwood and the door carved with ornate symbols around the molding. There was a white vanity to his left with a large mirror and carefully set out products – a silver hair brush, a thin comb and what looked like a set of tweezers. There was a large window to one side, thick curtains sweeping from ceiling to floor to mask the sunlight. Or, he assumed it was daytime. He wasn't sure how long he had been unconscious.

Whoever had taken him obviously had space and money and enjoyed luxury. Which only left Spencer with one name. Mason Verger.

A shiver went up his spine. Verger wanted revenge on Hannibal. Why would he have taken him? He felt his gut tighten as he recalled Verger's case file. He wasn't a moral or ethical man. Spencer had no doubt that he wouldn't care who got hurt in the crossfire of his revenge on Hannibal and he'd kill him – or worse – if he thought it would hurt the other man.

Fear seemed to creep up into his bones and he ignored it as best as he could. After all, he'd spent the entire past year kidnapped by a psychopath who ate people. How could this possibly be any worse than that?

A hysterical bubble of laughter tried to force its way out of his chest and he closed his eyes, lips curving into a ridiculous smile. He'd been kidnapped from his kidnapper. The irony made him want to laugh, and perhaps he would have if that pervasive fear weren't busy trying to make him cry.

His body shook with some impossible emotion and he found himself hoping that Hannibal would arrive soon and rescue him.

* * *

For a moment, Will could only stand there and stare at the vacant motel room. He was pulled out of his blank state when Jackie yipped loudly and pawed at his foot, looking up at him with shining brown eyes.

Will pressed his lips together and moved into the room. Nothing seemed overly disturbed. The bed was mussed from where Spencer had been lying there. There was a small amount of blood on the carpet and Will's stomach churned, thoughts racing.

There were faint scratches around the key-card lock in the door. Someone had forced their way in somehow. His mind was drifting and he forced himself to stay in his own mindset as he fingered the scratches thoughtfully.

Nothing had been taken. Spencer had been their objective target then. There didn't appear to be a note, but Will looked around anyway, tossing the blanket to the ground, scanning beneath the bed and searching the TV stand and nightstand.

He considered the idea that Spencer may have escaped whoever broke in. Maybe he'd run back to his team at the FBI. But Spencer wouldn't have done that. Will knew he'd been taken and he knew that he wasn't taken to free him.

Someone had taken him to hurt Hannibal and only one person that Will could think of would do that.

His hands were shaking slightly, but he forced the trembling away as he called Hannibal, voice catching in his throat as he started to explain what had happened.

* * *

Spencer counted the seconds in his head that he was alone in the bedroom. He'd gotten up to 1164 seconds when the door began to open, a slow and careful movement. He lifted his head up off the mattress as high as he could to get a clearer view of the door.

A man in a wheelchair came in first, followed shortly by a tall, slender man with thinning brown hair and sallow skin, pushing the chair behind him. Spencer recognized them both and quickly swept his eyes away from the man in the wheelchair.

His face was a mass of scar tissue, one eye unseeing and filmy. He had no lips, barely any discernable nose and the one eye he could see from was small and beady, set far back in his skull and swiveling unsettling over him.

Verger's doctor at least seemed to have to good sense to look guilty as his eyes swept over Spencer, wincing briefly before looking away. He kept his head down, slightly bowed and only glanced up every so often to look at Verger. Spencer wasn't sure how he managed that; looking at the man once made him feel a bit sick.

"Dr. Reid, isn't it?" Verger's voice was odd. Rasped, but still clear enough. It certainly hadn't lost that edge of arrogance and self-satisfied smugness that Verger had been raised with. That one good eye of his shone bright and his lipless mouth twitched. Spencer said nothing.

"Forgive me for the handcuffs," Verger continued, "I know it must be uncomfortable, but I was informed that you were quite resistant and unfortunately, I cannot have you running away just yet."

Spencer frowned and tried to pull himself up, just a bit. His head was still aching and the movement did nothing to ease the sore, burning pain in his back.

"Why am I here?" he asked. His voice was rough sounding and he cleared his throat, swallowing roughly.

"You can't guess?"

Spencer sighed and closed his eyes. "Hannibal,"

Verger nodded. Or, at least, his head twitched in what might have been a nod. He seemed to have limited movement in his face and neck.

"I understand you've had quite an eventful year, Doctor," Verger said. "It seems Dr. Lecter has left us both with scars, though mine are perhaps more… obvious than your own."

Spencer grimaced at the thought of that man looking at the scars Hannibal had left littering his body – the bite marks, the scar from his kidney removal, the possessive proclamation across his lower back. Verger slid his chair close, pressing his clawed fingers against an electric stick. Spencer wondered why he had his doctor push him in the chair if he could move it around relatively well on his own.

"It also seems that Dr. Lecter is quite… fond of you, Dr. Reid," Verger continued. His voice rasped, that one good eye widening just a bit as he focused intently on Spencer. "He doesn't seem eager to part with you."

Spencer's fingers clutched at the metal cuffs, "He isn't," he said, "He'll kill you for this, you do realize that."

Verger's mouth twisted into an approximation of a smile.

"He can try, and that is precisely the plan. Lecter is quite possessive of you. He risked capture just to have you; time and time again he's risked it by keeping you alive this entire time. I'm confident that when he sees what I've done to you, he will come rushing in to murder me, no matter his original intentions. And then he will find himself caught."

Spencer blinked, paling as he stared at Verger.

"What – what you've done to me?" his voice almost squeaked, but he reminded himself that he'd been Hannibal Lecter's captive for a year. This couldn't possibly be any worse than anything Hannibal had ever done to him. Could it?

Verger's expression was difficult to read, partly because he really didn't have much of an expression to begin with. His chair surged backwards and he motioned for the doctor to start pushing him from the room.

"I'm afraid, Dr. Reid, that you are going to find this experience quite unpleasant."

As he and the doctor left the room, another man entered, one of the men who had attacked him back in the motel room. He was the smaller man. Spencer shifted nervously on the bed, trying to pull the cuffs. He only served to dig the metal deeper into his skin, making himself wince as the door clicked shut behind him.

The man said something in English – his accent rough and clipped – but Spencer didn't really hear him over the thudding sound of his own heart beat. He tried to calm himself down. He'd faced dangerous situations with dangerous individuals before and he'd made it out well enough. But something in this man's gleaming dark eyes made Spencer uncomfortable as he approached the bed.

He felt the mattress dip beneath the man's sudden weight and then a heavy pressure settled across his hips. He screwed his eyes shut and clenched his fist, only barely hearing the man tell him that they were taping this for Dr. Lecter to see.

Bile rose in his throat and he bit his lips, refusing to scream or even acknowledge what was happening. He wished harder than ever that Hannibal would show up.

* * *

Hannibal swept over the room with a clinical sort of detachment. If Will's anxious gaze was anything to go by, he was even unsettling the younger man, but he could not worry about that. He had to focus. Allowing his emotions to guide him would only end up ruining everything.

Still, it was only his extremely tight and practiced grip on his self-control that kept him from going straight to Verger's mansion and butchering everyone inside. That was not his plan and would only end up causing more damage than good.

Hannibal Lecter knew how to wait, to be patient in getting the things he wanted and he certainly knew how to deal with any changes that forced him to alter his plans. This was a setback.

"You're taking this very well," Will's voice seemed very distant from where Hannibal's thoughts were – bloody, vicious thoughts of what he would do to Mason Verger for daring to take what was not his.

His eyes shot to Will's face and Will's breath caught in his throat as he stared. It was fascinating to watch Will sink into the mind of another, even more fascinating when the other was himself. Will went pale and his eyes were too wide and it took him too long to pull himself back into the present.

"Are you alright?" Hannibal cocked an eyebrow, studying Will. Will nodded, but his hands were tight fists at his side.

"That's… that's the first time since you tried to kill me that…"

"That I have no hidden my intentions from you?" Hannibal dismissed Will's shaky nerves. He had more pressing matters to attend to. He needed to figure out how to get inside Verger's no doubt guarded mansion without being spotted by either FBI or Verger's hired guns. And he needed to get inside quickly.

He snatched the phone from the small table and began to dial Clarice's number, not particularly caring that she was working at the moment and it would be dangerous to contact her while she was inside the FBI.

As he was pressing the numbers, the dog started yipping, scratching and pawing at the door. He felt the immense urge to strange it rise in his chest, but that wouldn't serve any real purpose and would alienate Will. He reigned in the urge and instead flicked his eyes toward Will.

"Take the dog outside," he said, glaring at her.

Will obeyed quickly, looking like he was ready to say something more. He clipped her leash on and pulling the door open. It was growing darker, afternoon slowly starting to fade into evening, and Will breathed deeply as he stepped outside, something plastic cracking slightly under his foot.

Hannibal looked up as Will jerked his foot back and leaned down, picking up what looked to be a small, clear DVD case, cracked slightly from where he stepped in it. A piece of white masking tape was pressed across it, Hannibal's name printed on it clearly. Inside was a silver disc.

Will swallowed and Hannibal sat the phone down, snatching the case and staring at it for a long moment before popping the disc out and turning toward the laptop.

* * *

Clarice was exhausted when she finally returned to her home that night. She'd spent a good portion of the day staring at a computer screen. The rest of the day had been spent wondering if she'd made the right choice in withholding the information she had on Lecter. She'd seen Jack and Hotch a couple of times and both agents seemed preoccupied and anxious. She'd been tempted to tell them about her meeting with Lecter, but she hadn't. One slip up might ruin their chances of actually catching him and that was what she wanted more than anything.

She leaned against the door for a moment as she got home, then flipped the light on, tossing her coat and bag onto the couch before heading to kitchen, her stomach aching from having not eaten lunch earlier.

She came to a halt, her eyes wide. Standing beside the island, leaning against it as casually as if he belonged there was Will Graham.

He smiled, his scars twisting on his face. It wasn't a particularly happy smile, but it was a smile all the same.

"Mr. Graham, what are you doing here?"

"You talked to Hannibal, didn't you?" he asked carefully.

She blinked, then her shoulders sagged and she nodded. She'd long since suspected that he had reunited with Lecter when he disappeared, but Lecter hadn't said anything about Will Graham during their conversation, so she hadn't been sure.

She moved to the cabinet, pulling down a shot glass before grabbing a bottle of whiskey. She held it up in offering, but Will shook his head.

"I thought Dr. Lecter said he wasn't going to contact me yet?"

"Things changed," Will said, "He sent me because he's worried about keeping a low profile."

"What changed?"

"Verger took Dr. Reid," he said, "Earlier today."

Clarice froze, fingers wrapped around the glass as she stared at Will. "He... You're sure it was Verger? Maybe Dr. Reid escaped."

Will shook his head again, "It was Verger. He sent Hannibal a disc. We found it when Hannibal got back to the motel after scouting Verger's place."

He pulled out a small plastic disc, a white label on it with Hannibal's name printed in large capital letters.

"He told me to come talk to you as soon as he'd watched it," Will's voice grew tighter, his eyes more distant.

"Look, I know you don't have any reason to do this… but we need to get into Verger's house and we aren't going to be able to do that without help. Unless we want to do exactly what Verger wants, anyway."

Clarice was staring at the disc, wondering what was on it. Surely a simple demand of a trade off wouldn't have upset Lecter so much that he'd alter whatever plans he already had in place for dealing with Verger?

"I assume you want to do this without the FBI's help?"

Will's smile was a bit bitter, "That would be best," he said, "for all parties involved."

She hesitated. Lecter was a dangerous criminal, but she didn't want him dead. If she didn't help, he'd still go in and get himself killed. If she notified the FBI of the development, Dr. Reid's rather revenge-driven team – or even Jack Crawford – would find some reason to kill Lecter before he made it back to his cell. Will look pale and sick and if Verger had taken Dr. Reid, things certainly didn't bode well for him. Really, she wasn't so much helping Lecter as she was helping Dr. Reid. And, by extension, saving Lecter from an unnecessary death of his own.

"Alright," she said quietly, downing the whiskey in one gulp and grimacing. "I'll do it."

* * *

Freddie Lounds crept closer to the small house, the moon midway in the sky. It was still light enough out for her to see, but that came with the added disadvantage of her being unable to properly cover herself.

Good thing the trees were so old and wide. She watched Agent Starling enter the house and considered leaving, but she knew something was going on. Something the young woman was definitely hiding.

She carefully made her way around the back of the house. Everything was dark for a few minutes and then light burst through the shuttered windows a few feet to her right. Keeping her grip on the small camera, Freddie made her way to the window and peered in through the slats.

From what she could see, Starling was in her kitchen. She was talking, but the words were quiet and muffled. Freddie swore and moved closer, pressing right up against the house. Starling wasn't alone. A man was there. Not Lecter, unfortunately. He didn't have the right build.

With his back to her, Freddie couldn't be sure who it was. She wished she could hear what was being said, but she settled for watching. She'd always been good at reading people's body language.

The man was tense and anxious; Starling was upset and confused, but not tense. After a bit, she seemed concerned, but her eyes were bright and gleaming with excitement. Starling motioned to a cracked DVD case holding a silver disc, curiosity flashing in her eyes. The man snatched the disc up and slid it into his inside pocket, his shoulders tightening.

Freddie snapped pictures silently, maneuvering her feet through the underbrush around the window and wishing the shutters were open a bit more so she could see clearer.

Seconds later the man turned slightly, his face twisted oddly. Freddie's eyes widened as she recognized the scarred features. A slick smile spread across her face as she began taking photos in earnest.

Clarice Starling and Will Graham, working together on something. Now _there_ was a good story. And Freddie intended to find out just what it was.

* * *

**TBC**


	36. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Twenty-Three

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

* * *

Nervous tension buzzed through Clarice's veins. She felt as if she were flying as she led Will Graham out to her car. She asked him how he'd gotten there and he waved her question away, muttering about a cab. He was scared. She could almost feel the fear thrumming off of him as he tapped his fingers against the door handle and directed her to the motel to pick up Dr. Lecter.

Part of her said that she needed to call Jack Crawford – or at the very least _someone_ at the BAU. But she'd tried talking to Jack earlier and it wasn't as if Jack had given her a chance to say much of anything. Besides, she was fully capable of handling herself. If the FBI didn't want to believe she could handle herself in the field, she would just have to prove them wrong.

As they drove, the silence became heavy and she turned to stare at Graham. He was twitching and his eyes were darting around the side mirrors and the rearview mirror every few seconds.

"How did you and Dr. Lecter meet up again?" Clarice asked, if for no other reason than to sate her own curiosity.

Graham jerked his head toward her, frowning, "Hmm?"

"You and Dr. Lecter," Clarice said, "how did you two meet again? Was it in London?"

Will gave a twitchy jerk of his head, "Florence," he said, "Before the Mancini murder."

She nodded, tucking that information away. So Graham had been there for Salvatore Mancini's death. She wondered if he'd killed him. The kill was messier than anything Dr. Lecter had ever done. She didn't ask though. Ignorance is bliss and all that. Maybe she'd ask Dr. Lecter. He at the very least wouldn't be offended by the question.

"Dr. Reid…" she started to ask another question, then thought better of it and paused. After Will failed to acknowledge her and the silence pressed harder against her, she decided the question was worth the risk.

"How is Dr. Reid?" she said, clearing her throat. "It's been over a year… Is he…?"

"Surprisingly stable," Will bit out. "And very accepting of his circumstances. He can adept."

She nodded, "And this… rescue mission… you're okay with just delivering him right back to Dr. Lecter?"

Graham frowned, "If I didn't know any better, Agent Starling, I'd say you were planning to double cross Hannibal Lecter."

Clarice smiled a bit, "Dr. Lecter did say that I would have the chance to bring in Mason Verger and him."

"Heh," Will snorted, "Not likely. Hannibal isn't going to allow himself to be taken. Not even by you."

"Are you saying that because he wouldn't let you arrest him or because you really think he's going to run again?"

Will's eyes narrowed, "Hannibal is a survivor. He cares first and foremost about himself. Trust me, Starling, if he has to leave you, me and anyone else behind to keep himself safe, he will. He's not the type to get… _sentimental._"

He bit out the last word, his scarred face twisting horribly with it. Clarice glanced over at him again and shook her head.

"He seems to be very attached to Dr. Reid. And to you. I think you're lying to yourself, Graham."

Will only snorted again before sitting up straighter, "Turn right here," he instructed, "I'll tell you where to park. He should be waiting outside of the room."

* * *

Freddie followed at a safe distance, keeping her eyes trained on Clarice Starling's small car. She wished she could hear what was being said inside and could've kicked herself for not thinking earlier for putting a bug into Starling's car.

She could make out the vague shapes of their shadows moving in the car and glanced toward her camera with a smile. She'd gotten plenty of shots of the two of them together. Granted, many of them were out of focus and from difficult angles, but there were more than enough clear shots for her to put in an article.

A lesser journalist would probably have called the police or the FBI by that point, but Freddie could smell a story – Clarice Starling and Will Graham together could only mean Lecter was involved somehow.

She slowed the her car down and pulled quickly into an old car wash, cutting her lights when she saw Starling pull into a motel parking lot. Quietly, she slipped out and, clutching her camera, moved toward the motel on foot.

It was dark, but the lights outside of the motel were bright, buzzing fluorescents and she could see Starling's car pulling up to a man standing with his back to them, closing a door. Her eyes widened when the man turned around and she saw Dr. Lecter himself.

Breath catching, Freddie lifted her camera and began snapping pictures with a blazing light in her eyes. This story would be bigger than her story on Chilton's death; bigger than anything she'd previously written about Will Graham; bigger than Clarice Starling being discarded by Jack Crawford. They started moving toward Starling's car and she ducked away, jogging back to her own car.

She slid behind the wheel and eased toward the road, watching carefully for the headlights of Starling's car. Three sets of lights passed before she saw the car she was looking for. She smiled again, waited a minute, watching where it turned off, and followed eagerly.

* * *

It was surprisingly warm in the room Spencer was being kept in. He was still lying on the same bed, now covered in a heavy blanket, naked and trembling. He'd spent a good half hour after Verger's man left simply staring up at the ceiling and blinking away the tears that threatened to fall in hot rivers down his face.

It took him a while to get a grip on his emotions, but once he managed to force himself to push the thoughts away, he starting looking for any means of escape. It felt strange. He'd done this so often after Hannibal had kidnapped him, but the need to find a way out had gradually become less and less important, to the point where he barely even bothered looking.

Now, though, it was all he could allow himself to think about.

They were likely on a second or third story of Verger's mansion. He couldn't tell what time of day it was – the curtain had been pulled closed the entire time – but Verger had sent one of the men in to clean him up and he'd made a comment about it cutting into his sleep. He could assume it was late evening.

Jumping from the window would likely do him no good. He'd only injure himself or kill himself. There were two doors – one which led into the hall and one that hadn't been opened yet. It was probably a bathroom, but there were other possibilities. A close, another section of the room, a passage into another room…

The handcuffs appeared to be standard police issue from what Spencer could tell from his limited view of them. He'd gotten out of handcuffs before. It was something he'd taught himself to do when he was a child, learning magic tricks. He'd become fairly good at it.

Of course, in this situation he was hardly in much of a position to pick the lock and he was sure Verger kept the key on him, or else entrusted it to his doctor.

After what felt like far too long, Spencer pressed his lips together and eyed the cuffs. He had bony wrists and slim fingers. His mother had told him when he was younger that he had pianist hands, but until very recently, Spencer had never bothered to attempt learning the instrument.

He bit down hard on his lip and tugged, his face screwing up as the metal cut into his skin. He could feel the hard edges digging and pressing against his flesh. After a minute, he stopped and glared up at his hands. His wrists were small, but the cuffs were on fairly tight.

His brain felt muddled, the thoughts thick and syrupy. Probably due to the concussion he'd received when Verger's men had grabbed him, or maybe something Hannibal had done. He couldn't be entirely sure any more. What he was sure of was that he had to get out of there and he could not just lie there and be the victim again.

Eyes still focused on the cuffs, he remembered Morgan teaching him how to dislocate his thumb in order to pull his hand through cuffs. He'd never actually done it and it looked painful, but he knew the mechanics of it. He studied the harsh red outlines and the dark forming bruises on his chaffed wrists.

He sucked in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. This would be painful.

It took considerable effort, sweat forming on his brow and blood beading from his lip where he bit down, but he managed to twist his right hand around and shove his thumb out of place. The hand slid roughly from the cuffs and his hand ached, but he didn't care. The chain clinked down and he slowly sat up, eyes wide.

His breathing was coming to fast as he stumbled from the bed. Everything was fuzzy and out of focus, his balance was off, but he was steady enough. He fumbled around the room, snatching at his clothes which had been left on the seat beside the vanity. He tugged them on, ignoring every flash of pain his body sent him.

He veins pumped with adrenaline. He had to get out. He had to get free.

_He had to get back to Hannibal…_

He flinched around that last thought and struggled with his shirt, hurrying to the as of yet unopened door. He flung it open to reveal a large and ornate bathroom. No other exit in sight.

He'd have to use the hall exit then.

Creeping toward the door, he pressed his ear against it. He couldn't hear anything, but he was pretty sure Verger would have one or two people standing there. It was stupidly risky to barge out there without a weapon.

Turning back to the room, Spencer began to search. He needed a weapon and he needed to get out of there.

* * *

Clarice glanced back in the rear-view mirror. It was dark in the car and all she could properly see of Dr. Lecter was his eyes. She'd been close to him before, but she'd never been quite _that_ close. In the sweeping street lights, his eyes seemed to glow, a dark, bloody red. She shivered, but not in fear.

She tried to keep her eyes on the road, but they kept darting back at Dr. Lecter's eyes. He was silent. It was terrifying and she still didn't feel scared. She wondered if maybe that part of her brain was just completely dysfunctional because she really _should_ be scared. She'd seen what he was capable of, after all.

The silence didn't feel as oppressive as it had with Will, but Clarice still fought the urge to fill it with the questions that were buzzing around in her mind. She didn't voice most of them in fear of sounding like an idiot.

Will cleared his throat, "How exactly are we getting in?" he asked, glancing back at Dr. Lecter.

Clarice answered before Dr. Lecter could, "Verger's got at least six men guarding the mansion. I've been shadowing him for the last few weeks with members of Dr. Reid's team. He's had men coming and going from the house. There are probably a few men inside too."

Her eyes flicked back to Dr. Lecter, "I'd like to get in and out without anyone being murdered."

Dr. Lecter's eyes met hers in the mirror and she felt a thrill run up her spine.

"Does defending oneself count as murder, Clarice?"

His voice was soft, but there was a hard, metal edge to it. She jerked her gaze away and forced herself to stare at the road ahead, watching taillights flash brightly in the darkness.

"I know you don't have any qualms about it, Dr. Lecter, but I'm an FBI agent and I could still call Crawford any time I want. We want these men _alive_. The best solution is the one where everyone lives."

She couldn't see his smile, but she heard the way his lips curled in the disturbingly gleeful tone of his voice.

"And one which ends with me once again behind bars, correct?"

Clarice frowned, "You did murder more than a dozen people and kidnap an FBI agent."

"I suppose I did," Dr. Lecter leaned back and then glanced through the back windshield.

"I have to wonder how well your training at the prestigious FBI academy was, Clarice, if you have no realized that we are being followed."

A sense of cold dread flooded over her and she followed Lecter's gaze, staring in the rear-view mirror. There were several sets of headlights brightly shining behind them, one several hundred yards back, slow and steady. She frowned.

"Are you sure?" Will asked, turning further in his seat.

Lecter turned his eyes to Will, "Of course,"

Will frowned, "We're almost there. You and Clarice take care of Verger's men. I'll figure out who's tailing us."

Clarice gave him a sharp look and Will smiled at her. It was a terrifying smile and for the first time Clarice actually felt afraid.

"I'm not going to kill them," Will said. She didn't believe him for a second. "Unless you think we need a suspicious body showing up where it can't be explained?"

She frowned at him, "Just do what I say," she said, "I'm helping you two here. I don't have to, so I expect you to follow my lead."

Dr. Lecter's teeth flashed as his eyes shone brightly, "Of course, Clarice," he said, "You're wish is my command."

* * *

There wasn't exactly much in the way weapons in the room and Spencer wasn't exactly up to much fighting anyway. He dug through the vanity and found a brush, a comb and a mirror. The mirror was heavy and might be a decent weapon to bludgeon someone with, but the comb was flimsy and the brush was small and light.

As he moved around the room the cuff still attached to his left hand bounced against him, pressing into his sore flesh. He ignored it. It was the least of his aches at any rate and he tried not to think too hard about the stiffness in his muscles and the aching burn in his lower body.

A search of the bathroom yielded not much more. A small backscratcher might make a decent weapon, but there wasn't much else. Soap, shampoo and another brush. There was a stack of thick towels and a jar of bath beads. Frowning, he reached into the jar and squished them in his hands. Too soft. He sighed and left the bathroom.

There wasn't much else in the room to be used as a quick weapon.

Holding the mirror in one hand and the sturdy backscratcher in the other – with some difficulty due to his dislocated digit – he went back out into the main room and swallowed his fear. His heart was pounding too fast and he was having some difficulty with his breathing, but he wasn't about to let fear get the best of him.

Twisting his grip tighter around the mirror, he reached out, closed his eyes and eased the door open.

* * *

Verger's mansion had floodlights illuminating the front gate. Will could see two men stationed just inside the gate, hidden in the shadows. It looked like they were holding assault rifles. Clarice's jaw hardened when she spotted them.

They parked a bit down the street and the car that had been tailing them cut their lights at the end of the street, parking just before the turn off. Will frowned and squinted toward the car. It was dark, but he could make out the shape of the vehicle. He couldn't see a person though.

"We're going to have to go around the guards," Clarice said as they slid out of the car. Hannibal was silent, seeming completely calm. Will could feel the rage and urge to kill bubbling beneath the surface.

"We go around to the side entrance," Hannibal said, "I am sure he has more men there, but it is less heavily lighted."

Clarice frowned, "How do you -? Never mind," she shook her head. Her hand went to the holster at her side and she pulled her gun out, checking the clip and turning off the safety.

"I lead," she reminded him, boldly meeting Hannibal's eyes. There were so few people who ever dared to speak like that to Hannibal. And even fewer who did so and lived. Will felt a sense of grudging respect for Clarice Starling.

Hannibal nodded courteously, eyes dark as pitch in the moonlight. He waved her forward and she moved swiftly through the shadows. Before following her, Hannibal turned to face Will, "Be careful, dear Will," he said, his accented voice low, "Mason is not to be underestimated. This could very well be something of his doing."

Will smiled and shrugged, "It's almost like you care, Hannibal," he said flippantly. He turned and moved in the opposite direction of Clarice, keeping his eyes on the silhouette of the car. He heard Hannibal's deep chuckle echo behind him as he disappeared into the night.

**TBC**


	37. Part 13: Blinding: Chapter Twenty-Four

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

* * *

It was dark and eerily silent as Will crept toward the car. It was parked far enough away from the streetlights that he couldn't quite make out the color. He used the shadows to his advantage, moving slowly through them and trying to banish the ridiculous comparison to Dracula from his thoughts.

As he got closer he could make out the silhouette of the driver – definitely a woman. His fists clenched tight when he saw the mass of curls leaning forward in the car. Even in the darkness he knew it had to be Freddie Lounds and she was steadily taking photos. For a moment, all Will saw was red and his body felt taut with the tension.

Unconsciously, his fingers slipped into his pocket, sliding over the handle of a beaten up old hunting knife he'd taken for good measure. It wasn't as good as a gun, but a weapon was a weapon.

As he crossed the street and came up around the car from behind he saw a brief flash of Freddie's red hair as she ducked her head. She was looking for something. Another camera, a recorder, a phone to call the police…

Will doubled his pace, moving swiftly forward until he could reach out and touch the back door on the driver's side. Without a thought, he yanked it open and slid inside. His hands didn't tremble as he reached forward and jerked Freddie's head back, the tip of the hunting knife pressing dangerously hard against her throat.

His breathing was heavy and his entire body tingled. The knife pressed harder against her throat and he couldn't stop himself from speaking.

"It wasn't very smart to come here alone,"

To her credit, Freddie didn't scream. Her voice wavered, but she let out a nervous laugh, smiling faintly.

"Will Graham," she said, "Always knew you were a killer."

Will's fingers in her hair tightened and he felt a thrill run through him as she winced. God, the times he'd fantasized about a moment like this. It probably made him a sick person, but he did not care.

"Too bad you'll never get to tell anyone."

"I've got all the evidence, Mr. Graham," she said, "Do you think you'll be able to argue your way out of that?"

Will leaned forward, his breath pressing against her ear, "But you can't show anyone those pictures if you're dead."

Will could _feel_ her fear. He could hear it in her quick breaths, smell it in her sweat and see it in her trembling hands. It was amazing. He felt light headed and half-drunk and all it took was one quick, hard jerk to expose her throat. She swallowed loudly and her breathing stuttered as he slowly pressed down on the knife.

It was one vicious, violent movement, but in his head it happened in glorious slow motion.

His fingers tightened around the handle of the knife and Freddie shook as he pressed it into her skin. The first drop of blood slid out, looking black in the darkness. The metallic smell hit him and he felt like he was flying as he pushed all of his strength into the blade and ripped it across her throat.

It took considerable effort to pull it across the flesh and the muscle but once his knife cut through her jugular and blood gushed out to splatter the windshield it didn't matter how his arm ached with the effort.

His eyes were dark with the euphoria as he watched the ruby-black liquid spray out in all directions. It was like watching something beautiful and sacred, Freddie's warm blood hitting the glass and the inside of the car seeming to grow thick with the heat and the smell.

For the longest moment Will simply sat there, a wondrous feeling rushing through his veins.

But then he was moving again, faster than before. He snatched her bag and her phone and her camera. He searched the car and remembered to wipe his prints away.

It wasn't until he was out of the car, staring at Freddie's lifeless form through the window, that he remembered he had told Clarice he wasn't going to kill her. He tried to remember why he'd made such a promise, but all he could think was how much the mere sight of Freddie Lounds sent his blood boiling. He couldn't make himself regret it.

Hannibal was right about him. He was just as much a monster as he was.

* * *

The door didn't make a sound as Spencer pulled it open. His shoulders relaxed when he wasn't immediately noticed. Swallowing, he peaked his head outside and looked around. The hall was wide and long, dotted with half a dozen other doors. There wasn't anyone that he could see, but he heard a voice talking – the thick accent sending a jolt through his body as he recognized the voice of his earlier attacker.

He was talking on the phone to someone, Spencer assumed. His voice was low and he said "sir" several times so it was likely Verger he was talking to. As the voice got closer Spencer could hear his footsteps. His chest felt tight and he held his breath.

As quietly and quickly as he could, he pushed the door closed again and stood to one side. He could still hear the voice, louder now as he approached. He felt like he was trapped in a horror movie for a moment when the door handle twisted, but the door didn't open right away.

"Of course," he was saying, "I will bring him immediately."

Spencer trembled and pressed himself as hard as he could against the wall. The man stopped talking and finally the door was pushed open. He only got a glimpse of his face as his eyes darted to the unoccupied bed. As swiftly as he could, Spencer brought the mirror down heavily over his head.

The glass made a horrible cracking sound and Spencer felt the aftershock of the blow jolting up his arms. The man stumbled, swearing in Spanish, and nearly fell to his knees, but he did not pass out.

He jerked unsteadily to his feet, one hand pressing against his head where he'd been hit. His eyes were unfocused and if anything, Spencer thought he might have given him a concussion. He didn't want to stick around to find out though, and instead ran as fast as he could from the room.

"Fuck!" the man's reaction was slow, but he chased after him, "Get back here you fucking bitch!"

Spencer's legs were longer, but he was weak and tired. Even with the possibly mild concussion, the man was stronger and faster. He lunged and crashed into the younger man, sending them both sprawling across the floor.

Spencer bit back a scream and tried to remember every little bit of self-defense training Morgan had taught him. He was not good at fighting, but he knew the specifics and all he really had to do was incapacitate the man and use his phone. He could call Hannibal –

His thoughts jerked to a halt when a callused hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed. His legs flailed awkwardly and his first instinct was to latch onto the hand at his neck, but he wasn't anywhere near strong enough to pull him away.

Closing his eyes, Spencer fought not to struggle. He went as limp as he could, holding his breath and hoping it would work.

After a moment, the powerful grip loosened and he felt the man move to stand, one hand gripping his shoulder to haul him up. His eyes snapped open and he slammed his left knee up and into the man's groin.

The grip at his shoulder fell away and the man screeched as he stumbled. Spencer pulled himself away from him as quickly as he could and debated for half a second about trying to get the phone. He was still not a match physically for him and he didn't want to take the chance. He'd find a phone downstairs if he had to.

He took off running again, slower than before as his muscles twinged and he felt new bruises forming. He didn't look back, but it was nearly a full thirty seconds before his attacker came after him again and the head start let him get to the landing of the staircase before being caught.

Gripping the handrail with his good hand Spencer launched himself down the stairs two at a time. He nearly tripped, but held himself steady as he reached the bottom and picked a direction to run without thinking, feeling fleeting hope that he might actually be free.

Only to run straight into his other kidnapper. His heart squeezed and he nearly fell to the floor, but two powerful hands latched onto his upper arms and kept him in place. He might have been grateful if it hadn't been for the murderous look the man was giving him.

Seconds later his attacker came fumbled down the stairs, swearing loudly.

"He nearly escaped," the man holding Spencer said. His accent was thick, but not as hard to understand as the other's. "Can't you do anything right, Miguel?"

Miguel scowled, "He took me by surprise!" he said, "It is not my fault!"

Spencer felt the hands around him tightened and suddenly found himself being spun around so that his back to the man holding him. His wrists were pulled tightly together and he heard the distinct click of handcuffs being locked. They were too tight, cutting harshly into his already abused wrists and he grimaced.

"You were supposed to be watching him,"

Miguel's eyes flashed angrily toward Spencer, "How was I supposed to know the little bitch would break out of his handcuffs, huh?"

Spencer's jaw clenched and he looked down at the floor. His heart was racing and he felt cold and sick. He wanted to vomit, but he doubted very seriously if they would take kindly to that.

Behind them, Spencer heard the faint sound of Verger's electric wheelchair and was suddenly spun around as the man holding him turned to face him. Verger and his doctor stood before them. Verger's one good eye shone with delight as he stared at them and his nonexistence lips were twisted into something similar to a smile.

"Miguel, Felix, bring him around back. Our guest Dr. Lecter is here."

Spencer's eyes widened. Hannibal was there? He had to stop himself from grinning. And then he wondered why he even thought Hannibal being there was a good thing. He just knew that he wanted to see Hannibal again and that made him feel even queasier than he already was.

Felix marched him outside with Verger and his doctor in the lead and Miguel following behind. He could feel Miguel's angry glare on the back of his head, but tried to ignore it. There was a pit that was slowly forming in his gut as they crossed the wide yard and headed toward a barn sitting at the far edge of the property, lights shining through the cracks in the wood.

As they got close, Spencer could hear loud squeals and snuffling sounds and felt his blood run cold as he tried very hard not to think about exactly what horrible fate Verger had planned.

* * *

It was easier to get inside Verger's mansion than Clarice would have suspected. There were only two men near the side gate when she and Dr. Lecter approached it. She knocked one out with her gun and by the time she'd turned around the other was on the ground at Lecter's feet. She wasn't entirely sure if he'd killed the man or knocked him unconscious and she was scared to check.

Her breath puffed out in the cold night air and she met Lecter's eyes.

He stared back unflinchingly and his lips twisted slightly.

"Shall we continue, Clarice?" he asked.

Lips tightening, she nodded and he fell in step beside her as they made their way to the house. It was quiet and Clarice's footsteps snapped a bit against the hard floors. Lecter moved soundlessly. She glanced over to make sure that he was actually still there and frowned.

She cleared her throat, "Can I ask you a question, Doctor?"

"You may ask me anything, Clarice," he said, "I cannot guarantee an answer."

She smiled faintly.

"What's so important about Dr. Reid?" she asked, "Why do you care so much that you're willing to risk all this for him? And, actually… what's so important about Will Graham or even me? Why did you come to me for help?"

Dr. Lecter paused and looked at her thoughtfully.

"Are you certain you want me to answer that?"

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise," she said, pausing to watch him. He was so close she could reach out and touch him if she wanted – and she did want to – but she didn't dare. The air between them seemed to vibrate as she waited for him to answer.

Before he could, the door behind them was thrown open and Clarice spun around, gun raised and finger poised over the trigger. Will stood there, breathing heavily. He had a bag clutched in one hand and his hands and shirt were splattered with blood. Squinting, she thought there might have been blood smeared on his glasses as well.

He spoke before she could, "They're out back, heading for the barn. I saw them on my in here."

Lecter was eyeing Will curiously and Clarice lowered her gun, but kept her finger tightly pressed against the trigger.

"That isn't your blood," she said, her words hard and clear.

Will looked down at himself, eyes wide as if he had just realized he was covered in someone else's blood. He looked back up and stared hard at Clarice's forehead.

"Things happened," he said, "I didn't have a choice."

Clarice scowled, "I said no killing," she said.

"And I said I didn't have a choice," Will grated through his teeth. "We can argue about this later. Verger is taking Spencer to the barn."

Clarice let out a breath and removed her finger from the trigger. "Alright," she said. "Let's go."

As they started toward the door she stopped and looked back at Will, "And give me the knife."

She held out her hand expectantly. Will hesitated, a scowl twisting the messy scars on his face. Clarice raised her brows impatiently and he dug the knife out, dropping it into her open palm. She tried not to think about the sticky blood on the handle as she shoved it into her belt and scrubbed her hand against her jeans.

Will wasn't quite meeting her eyes, but his gaze was burning, daring her to say something else. She wanted to, but they were trying to save Dr. Reid's life at the moment, so she started forward, not bothering to think of how insane she was for putting her back to two people she knew were perfectly capable of brutal murder.

* * *

Will and Hannibal stayed a bit behind Clarice, who insisted on taking the lead as they headed for the barn.

"You said you had no choice but to kill our mysterious follower," Hannibal said quietly. "You were lying."

Will didn't say anything, lowering his eyes to the ground and taking a deep breath.

"Will?" Hannibal asked, "Why did you lie?"

Sighing, Will shook his head, "It was Freddie Lounds," he said. That was all he needed to say, really. Hannibal eyes lit with understanding. Will jolted when Hannibal placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

"There is no need to feel guilty, Will," he said, "Miss Lounds may have occasionally had her uses, but she was a vile woman nonetheless."

Will pulled away from Hannibal's touch, a cold feeling sweeping through him.

"That's just it," he said, "I _don't_ feel guilty…"

In the darkness, Hannibal's teeth flashed, but he said nothing and Will fought the urge to shudder.

Ahead of them, Clarice had stopped near the barn doors, "Shh!" she hissed over her shoulder, "I can see Dr. Reid inside. He's alive…"

* * *

Felix held on to Spencer's arms as the doctor pushed Verger onto the lift in the barn. It was large and wide open, the dirt floor strewn with hay and droppings. An unsteady looking wooden pen was directly beneath them as the lift moved up and Spencer tried not to look down, terror making him sick.

There were large pigs in the pen, squealing and rutting against the wood. They were fighting to push their way to freedom and Miguel was standing there holding a gun and a cattle prod to keep them from fighting too much.

Suddenly, Spencer's wrists were jerked backwards roughly and Felix was attaching something to the chain between his cuffs. He tensed and glanced over at Verger, who was watching the entire thing with that same disturbing gleam in his eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, hating that his voice cracked.

"You've seen what Dr. Lecter did to me, Dr. Reid," Verger said, "Surely you can understand my need to get revenge?"

Spencer grimaced as his arms were pulled even further back, his shoulders being painfully wrenched upwards and completely out of their sockets as the chain hooked to the handcuffs was lifted with a wench. He tried not to scream, but it felt like his arms had been ripped from his torso and when his feet left the ground he was left panting and fighting off stinging tears of pain.

It took several long seconds to regain the ability to see through the pain and when he did, he realized he was now being dangled over the pen with the pigs. His breathing sped up, his lungs pressing painfully against his ribcage. Every little movement sent new flashes of blinding pain through him and he tried his hardest to stay still as he looked at Verger with wide eyes.

"I am sorry you had to get caught in the middle of this all, Dr. Reid," Verger said, "If it's any conciliation, when Lecter surrenders I'll have Felix shoot you in the head. It will a quick death."

He wanted to tell him that he didn't want to die at all, fast or slow. But he found it increasingly difficult to speak through the pain. He could only make choking noises as he fought against the edges of black that was creeping into his vision.

"He should be here any moment now," Verger continued, "I'm sure you won't have to wait much longer."

* * *

A pained yell erupted from inside the barn, echoing loudly over the sounds of the pigs inside. Hannibal moved forward, but Clarice held a hand up, stopping him. She was only partly aware of how dangerous that move was.

"He's alive," she said, her hand on her gun. "It's alright."

Hannibal only barely contained his anger at Clarice and sent a dark look to the back of her head, but she didn't noticed and continued speaking.

"There are two men, plus Verger and his doctor. The men are armed. Dr. Reid's hanging in the air over…" she trailed off and stepped back, pale and wide eyed.

"Hanging over what?" Will pushed her out of the way to peer through the cracks in the boards. He saw Verger and his doctor on a platform lifted in the air near the rafters of the barn. One of Verger's men stood to the doctor's left and on the ground stood another one, pointing a gun at a pen. His eyes widened and he turned to face Hannibal.

"He's hanging over a pen of pigs."

Hannibal didn't noticeably react, but there was the faintest twitch to his lips and his pupils constricted slightly. It was enough to make Will nervous as he turned back toward Clarice, who was fishing her cell phone from her pocket.

"I'm calling Jack," she said.

Hannibal snatched her wrist before she could press a single button and he locked eyes with her.

"I don't think that was part of our agreement, Clarice."

Clarice met his stare, "There are two armed men in there and I'm the only one here with a weapon. We need backup. Or do you not want to get Dr. Reid out of here safely?"

"We can do so without the interference of Jack Crawford, I am sure," Hannibal said. His tone left no room for argument but Clarice didn't look away, instead jerking her hand from his grip and shaking her head.

"Then I'll call Agent Hotchner," she said, "I'm sure Dr. Reid's team would be more than willing to help us."

"You will call no one," he moved in close and Clarice found herself pressed against the side of the barn, staring up into the mesmerizing eyes of Hannibal Lecter. She felt a thrill of fear shoot through her, and then fingers trailed down her arm and lightly encircled her wrist.

"Just so we're clear, Dr. Lecter," she said, ignoring the way her voice quaked, "I don't intend on letting you escape again."

Hannibal smiled and before she realized it he had her cell phone in his hand and he moved away, throwing the phone to the ground and stomping on it.

"And I do not intend to make it that easy for you," he told her, "Now, do you wish to remain here and help or are you going to run off to call your so-called friends at the FBI?"

Clarice bit her lip and stared at her broken phone. Verger might get impatient if Lecter didn't show soon and Dr. Reid's life was in very real danger. Any time she wasted put him in more danger. But barreling in there without backup or a plan was stupid. Of course, she had been the one to decide to do this without calling anyone in the first place.

"Alright," she said, "we go in. But you stay back and do as I say, Doctor."

She held her gun down and close to her side, once again peering through the slats in the boards. Nothing had changed inside. Taking a deep breath she motioned for them to follow her as she headed toward the barn doors.

* * *

Will and Hannibal stood back as Clarice entered the barn alone. She had insisted that Hannibal showing his face would not make it easier for her to talk Verger down. Will knew that there wasn't going to be any talking Verger out of his revenge, but it was likely smarter to at least try and stop him before Hannibal showed up.

They could hear her as she stood with her gun aimed upwards toward the rafters, her voice carrying out into the cool night air.

"Agent Starling! What a surprise!"

"Mr. Verger," Clarice kept her voice even as she spoke, "let Dr. Reid down and tell these men to put down their guns. You're under arrest."

Verger laughed, or, at least he tried to laugh. It was an unpleasant sound that made Will think of sick puppies and dying people.

"Are you alone, Miss Starling?"

"It's Agent Starling and no," she said, "I called for backup outside. They'll be here any minute, Mr. Verger, now have your men put their guns on the ground and get Dr. Reid to safety."

"I don't believe you, Agent," Verger said. He sounded absolutely cheerful and it made Will's skin crawl. "If you have backup on the way why didn't you wait for them? Why are you here all alone? I thought you were not working this case."

Clarice's patience seemed to be wearing thin, "Mr. Verger, I am an agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation and am I ordering you and your men to _cease and desist._ Put the guns on the ground. _Now._"

Will could imagine the hard look on her face as she spoke and he suddenly realized what it was about Clarice that Hannibal liked so much. All that determination and steel hiding behind her eyes must've been impossible for him to resist.

"You know, I really did like you, Agent Starling. I hope you won't take this personally. Felix, kill her."

* * *

Clarice's heart was pounding in her chest. Her palms were slick against her gun, but she gripped it tight and met Verger's one-eyed stare with a cold look of her own. Her voice projected through the barn and she tried very hard not to look toward the pen that was barely holding back the vicious pigs.

The man on the ground kept his gun and the cattle prod aimed toward them, but the man on the loft had his weapon pointed at her head. She shifted on her feet and her eyes darted from the man to Dr. Reid, who looked beyond words at that point, his face pinched and pale.

She heard Verger give the order to kill, but she reacted before she even finished processing what the words actually meant.

The man on the lift – Felix – moved to better aim, but she was faster. Her finger twitched against her trigger and suddenly her ears exploded with the sound of the shot. She didn't realize that she hadn't been hit until Felix collapsed and his gun clattered at his side on the metal surface of the lift.

Her breathing was coming quick. Her hands tingled as she stared with wide eyes at the spot where Felix had been standing. Thoughts came too fast for her to actually register them and then suddenly someone screamed and she became aware of the other man on the ground cursing at her in some foreign language her adrenaline soaked mind couldn't place.

She saw the gun. She reacted as quickly as she could, her entire body still vibrating with the force of the last blast. Her ears rang as another thunderous boom exploded and then another and it took her a very long second to remember she hadn't fired two shots.

Her hands felt numb. Her thoughts spun toward things that seemed unimportant and vitally important at the same time. Her shirt was wet. Her gun fell with a thud and she looked down to see a growing red pattern.

With wide eyes she pressed a hand to the red and pulled it away, staring at the sticky fluid that coated her fingers. She'd been shot. She blinked. Shouldn't it be hurting?

And then the pain hit her, like a ripping fire that shot right through her gut and her knees crumbled beneath her she realized she'd already screamed, because her throat felt raw, but she screamed again anyway because it hurt and she was dizzy and the barn was spinning, but she was supposed to be doing something important, she just couldn't remember what.

Then there was a voice, a familiar, wonderful voice that made her smile and she looked up and met a pair of dark eyes the same color as the blood that was sticky on her fingers and she smiled because he might not be human, but even Lucifer was an angel, right?

* * *

At the sound of the gunfire Will and Hannibal rushed into the barn, Hannibal in the lead. They entered with just enough time to see Clarice and the man who had been standing near the pig pen collapse on the ground. Clarice was clutching at her gun, the man lying dead a few yards away from her.

Hannibal was at her side, pushing her hair away from her face and talking to her in a quiet voice, trying to keep her conscious. Will snatched her gun from the dirt and looked up at Verger and his doctor.

"Oh, Dr. Lecter!" Verger called from above, a grin in his voice even if there wasn't one on his face. "It's been so long."

Will glanced back at Hannibal and saw his intense gaze focused on Verger. There was something inhuman about the way Hannibal looked in that moment. Will had always felt uneasy and often frightened in Hannibal's presence, but at that moment he felt downright terrified.

"Will, see to Clarice's wound," Hannibal stood and never took his eyes off Verger. Will hesitated, but went to the fallen woman's side, pulling off his jacket and balling it up to press against the bleeding wound in her gut. She was already pale and Will wasn't an expert, but if she didn't get to a doctor soon she wasn't going to make it.

"Mason," Hannibal greeted his former victim, his voice soft and congenial, clashing violently with his eyes. "It certainly has been a long time. I'm here now, though. Perhaps it would be better for everyone if you allowed William to take Clarice and Dr. Reid to the hospital. This does not have anything to do with them."

Mason's one good eye twinkled, "There are two problems with that argument, Doctor. One, if they leave I have no leverage. Two, if they leave I have witnesses. Neither of those things appeal to me.

"I'll make this very simple. You may switch places with your dear Dr. Reid, or I will drop him into the pen with the pigs and you can watch as he is ripped apart."

Spencer made a choking sound, but his eyes were unfocused. Will was pretty sure he wasn't going to be conscious much longer.

Hannibal seemed to consider that, studying Verger, who appeared slightly agitated, and his doctor, who was nearly hyperventilating as he stared at the scene before him. His hands were shaking and Will saw sweat shining on his brow. The man's fingers twitched against the handles of Verger's wheelchair. He looked like he was going to vomit.

Very slowly, Hannibal shook his head.

"I'm afraid that isn't very motivating, Mason. Are you certain you've thought this out very well. You're up there and your men are dead."

Mason frowned, "I'm up here and I have the controls for the wench holding Dr. Reid," he said, "I'll drop him."

"That would be unwise,"

He said it softly, but Will heard the undercurrent of threat there. He tried to focus on Clarice. Her bloody fingers were wrapped around his wrist and her skin was a horrible grey color.

"Hannibal," he said, "she's dying."

Hannibal barely spared a glance back before turning his attention back toward Verger and his doctor. Slowly, he smiled and tilted his head.

"I'm curious, Dr… Doemling, isn't it?"

The doctor made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a squeak and his head jerked in what may have been a nod.

Hannibal smiled, "Dr. Doemling, how exactly is it that you became a part of this scheme? It seems inevitable from where I'm standing that you are going to be caught… Two FBI agents injured. Agent Starling was not the only agent investigating Mason, you know."

Doemling stared at Hannibal, opening his mouth like he wanted to say something, but closing it again. He looked vaguely green.

In his arms, Clarice made a pained noise and shifted, blinking glassy eyes up at him.

"Hannibal," he said urgently, trying to hold her up. She needed medical attention.

"Don't listen to him, Cordell," Verger said, turning slightly toward his doctor. "Lower Dr. Reid into the pen."

Cordell hesitated as he moved toward the controls for the wench.

"Do you really want to do that, Doctor?" Hannibal asked. "Spencer Reid has never done anything to you. Or to anyone, for that matter. Why should you become a murderer for Mason Verger?"

Verger's voice was raised to a fever pitch and if he hadn't lacked adequate facial movement he would've been scowling.

"Don't listen to him!" Verger said, "Lower the cable!"

Hannibal's lips twitched and he met Doemling's eyes, "Or you could just… push him in," he said. Verger was having a fit in his chair.

"Cordell! Do it _now!_"

"It would be so easy," Hannibal said, "One little push. You could say it was me."

Slowly, Doemling moved back toward Verger's wheelchair. Verger was jerking in his chair, spewing at him to stop and lower the cable. "Cordell! Cordell!"

Doemling's hands were shaking so badly he had trouble gripping the handles of the chair. He looked down over the edge of the lift and back at Hannibal, who smiled easily at him. Swallowing, and ignoring Verger's screaming, he gave the chair one good push and watched with wide eyes as it toppled over and into the pen.

The pigs went wild. The sounds of squealing almost covered up the horrible, sick screams as the smell of blood grew even stronger in the barn.

Almost.

Still looking sick, Cordell Doemling only just managed to get Spencer back onto the lift before collapsing to his knees and puking over the edge of the lift. He left Spencer laying there as he climbed down and ran on shaky legs out of the barn. Hannibal didn't bother to go after him.

"Hannibal, her pulse is weak," Will said from the ground, "We need to call an ambulance. I don't think she's going to make it."

Hannibal turned toward him and knelt in the dirt. There was something so wrong with Hannibal Lecter getting his fancy suit dirty. He pulled Clarice back into his arms and removed Will's jacket, moving her shirt to get a better look at the wound.

"I'll tend to her. Go make sure that Spencer is alright."

Will stumbled to his feet and ran to Spencer. The younger man was barely conscious and his hands were still cuffed behind him. He groaned as Will tried to move him as gently as he could. His pain-glazed hazel eyes met Will's and he smiled at him faintly.

"Will…" he laid his head against Will and his eyes fluttered. "Where's Hannibal..?"

Will looked over to Hannibal, who was trying in vain to do what he could for Clarice. She was as good as dead.

"Taking care of Starling," he told him. "Can you walk?"

Spencer blinked and frowned, "Maybe… It hurts…"

"I know," Will helped Spencer to his feet. He was shaky, but at least he could stand. "Come on."

He led him toward Hannibal and Clarice. Hannibal was holding Clarice to him tightly, a strange look on his face. If Will hadn't known better he'd say it was remorse, but that couldn't be. Hannibal didn't feel remorse.

As they got closer, Hannibal looked up, his voice slightly choked as he stared at him.

"She's dead…"

Will looked down at her body and then over at Spencer. Verger was still screaming in the pen, but he tried not to listen to that.

Very gently, Hannibal lowered Clarice to the ground and stood.

"We've got to go," he said, "I'll take Spencer…" he held his arms out for Spencer, but Will didn't move to help Spencer shuffle toward him. He stared hard at Hannibal, some unplaceable feeling welling up inside of him.

"You know this is your fault," Will said quietly. "All of it. Clarice and Spencer would be fine if it weren't for you."

"Will," Hannibal frowned at him and Will let his arm drop from Spencer.

"I don't know why I didn't see it before…" Will's voice was soft as he stared at Hannibal and stepped closer toward him. "You twist things and people. I don't… I don't even know who I am anymore."

"Will," Spencer's voice was pained, "Will, he's right. We need to go."

Will glanced back at him and shook his head, looking back at Hannibal with a dark look in his eyes.

"I killed someone tonight. In cold blood. I don't know who you turned me into, Hannibal…"

Hannibal's warm hands, stained with Clarice's blood, rested heavily on his shoulders and he met Hannibal's gaze as the man stepped into his personal space.

"You are Will Graham," Hannibal said quietly, "You are you. I did nothing to you, Will."

Slowly, with more caution than Will had ever seen Hannibal use, the doctor leaned down slightly and pressed his lips to his gently. For a second, Will thought of all the other kisses they'd shared. Of all the times he had said he loved Hannibal and all the times he'd actually believed he did.

A hard lump filled in his throat and he remembered a conversation he'd had with Spencer in Florence. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it stood out so clear in his mind.

In one swift movement his fingers wrapped around the handle of the knife he'd slipped from Clarice's belt. Tacky blood stuck his fingers to it and he shoved it forward and into Hannibal's gut.

Hannibal barely made a sound. One quiet, surprised gasp escaped his lips and he pulled away, meeting Will's eyes for the longest second. He reached up with his free hand and touched Will's hair, sticky with blood and sweat.

The saddest smile Will had ever seen twisted his lips.

"You are so beautiful…" he whispered.

Breathing hard, Will pulled away from him and stared with panicked eyes as Hannibal Lecter collapsed next to Clarice's still body. He was in a cocoon of numbness as he stared down at the two of them. A feeling like peace washed over him and it was the calmest Will Graham had felt in years.

Then the real world came crashing down around him and he heard Spencer's terrified voice cracking behind him.

"What did you do? Will, what did you do!?"

**TBC**


	38. Part 13: Blinding: Epilogue

**Title**: _**Conversations with a Canniba****l**_

**Rating**: T

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, dubious consent, discussion of drug use, non-consensual drug use, murder, gore, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, heavily implied rape, fade-to-black rape, torture, psychological torture, dangerous medical procedures, sexual situations. This story is potentially triggering. Proceed with caution.

* * *

**Part 13: Blinding**

**Epliogue**

* * *

_No kiss, no gentle word, could wake me from this slumber,  
Until I realized that it was you who held me under  
__**Blinding **_**–**** Florence + the Machine**

* * *

It took nearly five minutes for Will to calm Spencer down, and five more minutes for him to dig Lounds's phone from her bag and call Aaron Hotchner. After that, everything happened very fast.

Cordell Doemling disappeared. No one found out what happened to him. Mason Verger's body – what was left of it – was cremated and interred in his family plot.

There was a large spread in the news for all of the victims and everyone involved. Freddie Lounds would've been proud of how famous she had become – her headshot placed alongside all the other victims of the notorious Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Everyone said she was lucky she died so quickly.

Will Graham was a hero again, which was not all that different from the other time he was a hero. The man who caught Hannibal Lecter became the man who killed Hannibal Lecter. After the investigation was officially closed and all loose ends tied neatly away, Will Graham disappeared and no matter how hard he tried, Jack Crawford was unable to locate the man again.

Clarice Starling was a martyr. Her smiling face was plastered across the news programs for weeks, the story of her daring to go up against two brutal killers and sacrificing her life to save Spencer Reid went international for a while.

Spencer Reid, of course, became a tragic victim, caught between a serial killer and his brutalized victim. He spent a week in the hospital before being moved to a psychiatric ward, where he was held for nearly two months. Only his teammates pulling strings kept the media away from him. His name was kept out of the news for as long as possible.

It took him a while to readjust to living in the real world again. He reconnected with his team, his mother. With Maeve. Slowly, he remembered how to be Dr. Spencer Reid again, how to live without Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham. How to have freedom again. Freedom was a terrible burden. One he took great pains to embrace.

* * *

Spencer splashed water in his face, keeping his eyes closed against the bright bathroom lights. He was shaking, breathing too quickly, and his long fingers wrapped around the edges of the sink as if he was trying to hold himself together.

"Spencer?" Maeve's voice was raspy and groggy as she appeared in the doorway. Her hair was a mess and her nightgown was rumpled. She squinted against the light and pushed her bangs from her face to see him better.

"You alright?"

He nodded and dried his face quickly, straightening up. Unconsciously, his fingers rubbed along his shirt at the scar that was throbbing underneath.

"I'm fine," he assured her, kissing her softly on the mouth. Even after being back home for a month, he still couldn't get used to the wonderful feeling of having her again. Talking to her, laughing with her. He might even have said he was happy if it weren't for the nightmares and the sickening pangs of guilt and longing he felt whenever he thought about Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham.

"It was just another nightmare," he said, guiding her out of the bathroom. They were in her apartment; Spencer hadn't gotten a new place. He wanted to stay close to Maeve and she had no objection, even though he spent most of his nights on her couch rather than in her bed. Just knowing she was down the hall did help.

She smiled sadly at him and reached out to grasp his hand with her own. He fought back a grimace as their fingers laced together and he felt the conspicuous absence of her index finger. Memories flashed through his mind and he shoved them away, returning her smile when she leaned up and kissed his cheek.

"Early morning tomorrow," she said lightly, "You should get some sleep. I'm sure the FBI is happy to have you back."

He nodded, "I know. I'm gonna get a drink and then I'll be back, alright?"

She let her hand fall away and nodded, disappearing into the bedroom. He waited until he heard the bed creak beneath her to head to the kitchen and pour a glass of water. He didn't drink it, just stared at it for several minutes while his thoughts ticked slowly on.

He was going back to work the next day, but not in the same capacity he'd been before. The thought of actually going into the field was more sickening than he could put words to. Even looking at crime scene photos gave him flashbacks, the memories popping up at the most inopportune moment. Nights of blood and murder and fear and violence and sex smashed together with the conflicting feelings of danger and excitement and wonder and terror.

His team had been supportive when he'd told them he wasn't going back to the BAU, though they were a bit dubious about him deciding to teach at the Academy instead. They thought he wasn't getting far enough away from the triggers, but he told them they could sit in on his classes any time they wanted if they were worried and they seemed to accept that.

Tapping his fingers against the counter, Spencer closed his eyes, thinking back. He lifted the glass and gulped the water, suddenly feeling exhausted and tired as the memories from the nightmare drained out of him and left his body weak.

Maeve was already asleep when he returned to the bedroom. He smiled softly at her and slid in beside her, kissing her hair before settling down and drifting off.

* * *

The next morning Dr. Spencer Reid stood up in front a podium, looking out at all the faces before him – most young, some old and right in the front a pair of familiar faces. He smiled faintly at Penelope and Derek, but didn't acknowledge them in any other way.

His hands felt shaky as he committed the other faces to memory. He'd taught classes before – some even larger than this one – and it wasn't stage fright that had him feeling sick. In the middle section of seats a young woman sat, pale brown hair and a sharp chin. Her eyes were bright and eager. She looked like Clarice Starling and for an illogical moment Spencer thought he was seeing a ghost.

He heard Hannibal's voice dance through his thoughts and closed his eyes, mentally shaking himself as he looked at the clock. Two minutes and seventeen seconds fast. He smiled out at the faces that were starting to blur together in his effort not to attach any feelings to them.

He cleared his throat, "Good morning. I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. I'll be teaching you how to get inside the minds of violent criminals for the next several weeks…"

* * *

On a dock on the east coast of Florida a man sat with his legs dangling in the water. He wore dark sunglasses over his eyes and a hat pulled down to hide the hideous scars that marred his face. In one hand he held a half empty bottle of Scotch. Another bottle – empty – sat to his left. His other hand was resting in the dark fur of the little dog that had laid her head on the sun bleached wood.

His fingers scratched the dog's ears lightly and he smiled down at her. She wagged her tail and looked up at him, tongue lolling out happily.

It was a quiet life he'd made for himself, right there on the beach in a small little house made of boards that were worn from years of exposure to wind and salt water. The white sand went right up to his front door. The garbage can that sat outside was overflowing with dark brown bottles.

There were rumors about him – he was an escaped convict, a foreign spy, a widower who'd lost his family in some awful tragedy. None of the neighbors knew his name, just that he split his time between drinking and fixing boat motors and introduced himself as Graham.

His property was often overrun with dogs – big dogs, small dogs, stray dogs and missing pets. Some he kept, others wound up in the pound or returned to their owners if they came looking for them. He didn't seem to mind. Some neighbors said the only time they ever saw him smile was with those dogs.

The little dog at his side yapped eagerly and hopped to her feet, taking off toward the house. He watched her run off and then turned his attention back to the horizon. The sun was setting and the sky was streaked through with pinks and oranges, the light glittering on the water.

A shadow fell over him but he didn't look up. A man sat beside him, wearing overlarge sunglasses and an ill-fitting shirt with a crooked tie. He still didn't look at him.

"It's been a year,"

Graham turned his head just slightly, "Only a year?"

"Jack thinks you killed yourself," he said matter-of-factly.

Graham snorted, "Good. That means I won't be getting any more calls to consult, will I?"

"I thought you were dead too… You didn't even say goodbye."

"Cut all ties, Spencer," Graham said. "That's what I did. Easier that way."

"For who?"

"Me,"

Spencer frowned, "I won't tell them where you are," he said, "But… I'm going to keep tabs on you. Thought you should know."

Graham snorted, "I heard you weren't an agent anymore, Doctor," his words were slurred. "How do you plan on keeping tabs on me?"

"I've still got friends in the FBI, Will," Spencer said. He was staring at Will with a sad look on his face. He stood and reached out, like he wanted to touch him, then pulled his hand away and sighed heavily.

"There was a murder last week," he said quietly, "Someone stabbed a bartender to death. I don't want what I'm thinking to be true… but if there are more bodies I can't ignore it."

Graham's scarred lip curled and he shrugged.

"Guess I can't help that, can I?"

Spencer sighed again, "If you need anything…" he trailed off and looked down. He didn't say anything for almost a minute and neither did Graham. Then he turned and walked away. Graham listened to the sound of his footsteps until they faded into nothingness.

He lifted the bottle to his lips and unceremoniously gulped several mouthfuls. He was already drunk, but he liked to be sober as little as possible. His thoughts wandered as he lowered the bottle and his smile fell away as he got lost in the past.

"_Do you feel unstable, Will?"_

_Hannibal is standing very close to him, practically pressing against him. Will can feel the heat from his body and it makes him lightheaded. He doesn't meet Hannibal's gaze, staring resolutely at Hannibal's tie, distracting himself by trying to decipher the pattern._

_Warm, rough fingers cup his face and tilt his head up._

"_Will, I asked you a question," Hannibal whisperers._

_Will's mouth falls open and he finds himself staring into Hannibal's dark, smoldering eyes. For a moment he gets lost in them, forgetting his spinning head and racing thoughts. Forgetting how his world is crumbling down around him._

"_I… I feel… I feel uncertain…"_

_Hannibal's hand slides away from his jaw and down to his shoulder, gently squeezing. Will is pressed back until he's flush against the bookcase. His eyes are still too wide and he can't seem to look away from Hannibal's gaze._

"_Uncertain about what, Will?"_

_Will stutters. He sucks in a harsh breath and shakes his head. "Uncertain about… everything. Who I am. What I'm doing… I don't know anymore."_

_Hannibal is staring at him. Will feels pinned and he isn't sure why there's a faint voice in the back of his mind screaming at him to run. If he weren't so terrified perhaps he would do that, but he's scared and frozen and he doesn't want to stop feeling the easy weight of Hannibal's hands against his shoulder._

_Hannibal moves closer and he's pressing right up against Will. His other hand comes up to caress his cheek and before Will can do anything, warm, soft lips are brushing against his. For just a moment his world stops. Everything stops. Everything except the feeling of Hannibal's lips as they move against his._

_The kiss is over all too soon and Will is dumbfounded. He clutches at Hannibal and his eyes linger on Hannibal's mouth, tracing the curve of his lips and wanting them back on his mouth again._

"_Do you feel uncertain about that?" Hannibal asks, his voice soft and gentle._

_Will shakes his head and Hannibal smiles, pulling him away from the bookcase. Will follows obediently as he's led further into Hannibal's home than he's ever been. Up the stairs and down the hall and into a bedroom fit for a king._

_Thunder quakes outside and for the first time in many months Will Graham feels like maybe he isn't going insane._

_That night he unwittingly sells his soul to the Devil._

* * *

_And I... I tried so hard to let you go.  
But some kind of Madness,  
Is swallowing me whole  
__**Madness – **_**Muse**

* * *

**FIN**


End file.
